


The World For Us

by TeaHouseMoon



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: 19th Century, AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Cowboys, I wanted to write something different, I’ve gone crazy, M/M, Oliver on a horse, Please note: there is guns, Protective Oliver, Red Dead Redemption inspired, Smut, Tags to be added, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), cowboy Oliver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2019-10-06 22:09:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 98
Words: 149,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17353538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaHouseMoon/pseuds/TeaHouseMoon
Summary: Oliver is a cowboy, on his way home one stormy night, when he finds a boy he wants to help.The boy’s name is Elio.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well!! I don’t know what happened to me! I had this AU buzzing in my head for a while. Blame Red Dead Redemption!
> 
> Anyway, this is just the prologue, and I wanted to give it a go and see if I can write it - it’s completely different, but of course it would still be about Oliver and Elio and their love.  
> Just in the Wild West, in the 19th Century...

It was raining, and thundering, and the wind was relentless.

It had been dark outside for hours now and Oliver couldn’t wait to get home; the memory of the derelict building they hid into these days had never felt so sweet until now.

His horse neighed, and bucked a little, against the rain that slapped them, as Oliver pushed it as fast as it could go.

It had been hours since they started riding but they were not that far, now.

He would have never even dreamt of stopping, had he not seen that light flickering from what looked like a mere pile of wood, inside a small cave on the side of the hill. The light burned up, and then went out just a second later. Tried again.

Oliver got curious, and so he slowed his horse down, directed it towards the strange happening. It was too strange for it to be just casual, for it to be an animal. Oliver’s eyes were too well trained for it to be just a misjudgement.

There must be a person, there, somewhere.

Oliver dismounted, and walked a little closer, disregarding the rain still pelting down on him. He was soaked to the bone, but so what - it couldn’t get any worse at this point.

He thought he could see a shadow, inside, on top of a makeshift shelter made out of almost completely rotten wooden boards. The silhouette of a person, the lighting making it more evident - the sky so bright with the storm that it didn’t even seem like nighttime anymore.

“Hello?” Oliver called, walking closer.

Whoever was inside only had one way in.

Oliver approached it, peeked inside.

“Hello?”

“No, no. Stay away!”

It was a boy. A boy, of sixteen, perhaps seventeen years of age. Soaked to the bone, just like Oliver was, except the boy only wore light pants and a dress shirt that must have been white originally but was grey and ruined now. He was shivering.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not here to hurt you,” Oliver raised his hands, stood by the entrance without moving. He didn’t want the boy to be afraid.

“I’m not scared!” the boy screamed, backed up against the wall of the cave. “I’m not scared of you!”

His actions told the exact opposite story of his words, and Oliver wanted to smile, in compassion.

He kept his hands up, showing he was unarmed. He hadn’t walked in to shoot someone - something, inside, told him it wouldn’t be necessary, something like an instinct, a sixth sense - and so he had left his weapons on his horse.

“You shouldn’t be scared. I’m not here to hurt you,” Oliver repeated. “I want to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” the boy bit back.

Oliver looked down, at the pieces of wood, and the matches that the boy had been trying to use, fruitlessly, to light a fire.

“I think you do.” He tried to say as gently as he could, not to spook him again. “It’s wet and freezing. You won’t last for more than a few hours here. Especially with all the beasts, and bandits around.”

He watched as the boy trembled, tried to steel himself again, at his words.

Oliver made another attempt.

“My name is Oliver. I don’t want to hurt you.” He adjusted his voice, made sure he was clear, but didn’t sound threatening. “Let me help you. I can take you somewhere safe. That’s where I’m going.”

The boy stood there, still unmoving. Still unsure on his feet, trembling from the cold, but his chin up, eyes defiant.

Oliver didn’t know what made him want to help him. What made him want to stop, and try to give this boy a chance of surviving. He just knew he had to do it.

“What’s your name?” he asked gently.

“Elio.”

“Elio.” Oliver felt a strange satisfaction at that first, tiny sign that the boy, just maybe, had started to trust him. “I have a safe place, shelter, food and warmth. I can take you there. Nothing bad will happen to you, I promise.”

The boy stared for a few moments longer without moving from his spot against the stony wall.

He seemed to be considering his options. Stay here, and probably die, of starvation, of cold, mauled by an animal or attacked by a criminal; or go with the stranger, with the cowboy who, for some reason, wanted to help him.

Oliver lowered his hands.

“Come on. Come with me.”

He smiled, hoping it was friendly enough that Elio would know he actually meant what he said.

The boy took a deep breath. And then, very slowly, stepped up, closer to Oliver although still keeping enough distance that he could run if he needed to. He shivered still, and Oliver backed up out of the cave, towards his horse obediently waiting outside. He looked at Elio.

“This is Arthur. He’ll take us home.”

He hoped the boy was used to horseback riding, or that he would at least not be spooked by it, but he didn’t have much hope; and yet, once Oliver mounted, Elio pulled himself up, held onto the saddle. He seemed at ease with it.

Oliver sighed, a small relief.

“Hold on tight,” he told the boy. And then, with a kick of his heels, he got his horse back on the path to home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am interested in finding out what you think... and if you’d want to read more?
> 
> It’s up to you!
> 
> Thank you for reading this prologue, anyway. X


	2. Hideout

“Here we are,” Oliver murmured.

They’d reached camp. It was the dead of the night, and so everyone was asleep. The only one left awake was their guard for the night, who stood by the edges of the clearing watching out for threats.

Oliver had called out for them as they arrived; he was trusted enough that they didn’t even look to check on the stranger he was carrying on his horse with him.

Oliver helped Elio dismount, signalling to him to keep quiet.

“Everybody’s asleep,” he explained, hitching Arthur at a post by the entrance to the building. The rain was gradually letting up, and so the horse wasn’t complaining too much. Oliver wished they could build a stable for their mounts, but with their nomadic lifestyle they’d never ended up staying at one place long enough to lay out any kind of permanent setting.

Oliver motioned for Elio to follow him.

The boy still lagged behind by a few steps - still cautious. Oliver could not really blame him; but was determined he’d win his trust, sooner or later. If Elio didn’t escape before that, of course.

At the moment, they camped within an old abandoned townhouse they’d found about a month prior. It wasn’t anything remarkable - it was run down, partially destroyed, but some of the rooms were still in good condition, and more importantly, still had a ceiling. Having a roof over your head could not be discounted at any time, especially when the alternative was the ratty fabric of a worn tent, or nothing at all.

The stairs were still in one piece; and the fireplace in the hall worked fine. A real luxury.

Oliver walked over to it, and lit up a fire, pleased that no one was sleeping on the floor around there that night. Not everybody could have their own room, of course.

“Here. Come warm yourself up,” he encouraged. He took a couple of steps back, to give Elio some space to feel safer.“I can lend you one of my shirts. I don’t have many, but it will have to do while we dry up yours.”

Elio nodded. Stepped closer to the fire, slowly, reached his hands out towards the flames. Oliver watched as the boy’s cheeks gained a little flush to them. He looked healthier already.

He walked upstairs to his lodging and picked up a shirt for Elio - another old, worn out thing, but it would have to do. Oliver didn’t own many sets of clothes, and those he did have were mostly apt for hunting and fighting.

“I’ll - I’ll let you get changed,” Oliver said, quietly. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

And then he went back upstairs to see to his own rain-soaked garments.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Who else lives here?” Elio asked, looking at Oliver, still wary. He was wearing Oliver’s shirt, though; it made Oliver feel better. Pneumonia was not something easy to deal with when you lived in a hideout miles away from a doctor.

Oliver had given him a piece of bread, and Elio was tearing it into little pieces, chewing each slowly.

“It’s nine of us. Six men, three women.”

Elio nodded. Oliver’s shirt was huge on his thin frame; it made him look even smaller.

“And - you’re a gang?”

Oliver looked up into his eyes. Checking for judgment - but Elio’s expression was schooled into a nondescript passiveness.

Oliver nodded once.

“Yes. We’re - outlaws.”

He watched, as Elio bit his lower lip, then turned to look at the fire. The boy still wasn’t reacting the way Oliver expected him to.

“It’s a hard life out there. We’re doing okay. We’re a sort of - family,” Oliver offered, attempting to curtain the edge his words had acquired when he admitted to being a criminal. “But - as you can imagine, they don’t take well to strangers. I’ll introduce you to all of them in the morning but for now, you should sleep upstairs, in my room. I’ll give you my bed, if you like.”

The boy shook his head.

“You really don’t have to. I can sleep here.”

It made Oliver chuckle.

“I think Susan can be more dangerous when she sees someone she doesn’t know, than one of those grizzlies you were going to encounter where I found you,” he joked - although he wasn’t completely lying. Susan was their boss’s wife, and, according to most of the gang, the real person in charge around there, based on the efficiency and the no-nonsense way with which she ran all matters at camp. “Come on. Come upstairs. I have a bed and even a blanket.”

He watched as Elio hesitated, then nodded minutely, and pulled himself up on shaky legs.

He must be exhausted.

Oliver let him follow, as he showed him where to go. Got him settled; and then, picked up a piece of cloth for himself, and went to sleep on the bench just outside his room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And it was exactly Susan who he saw first thing the next morning, as he made his way back downstairs.

The rest of the gang had begun to populate the camp, starting their day. There were chores to complete, errands to run. The stew was cooked, and ready for breakfast; the coffee steamed in the percolator.

The sun, finally, seemed to have been able to make its way out of the clouds.

“Morning, Mister Oliver. I saw you sleeping on the bench just earlier,” Susan greetedhim as soon as he saw him. She was a sturdy woman, with black hair up in a bun, a white streak running through it. She was having her first cigarette of the day, and the smoke blew out of her lips as she spoke. “Did you come home drunk again last night?”

“I actually had a lot of work to do, yesterday, Missis. Most of the deer in that stew was donated by me, I’ll have you know,” Oliver responded, his reprimand tongue in cheek. “Anyway. There was a reason for my sleeping there.”

Susan raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, was there?”

She was going to find out, really soon, anyway. Oliver wanted to make sure she knew, and that she felt inclined to help.

He nudged her arm gently, indicating she should follow him inside, so they could speak in private.

“I found this boy. In a cave. Think it’s a prisoner, probably kidnapped. Most likely escaped, and got lost,” he told her quickly, before she could speak and bemoan the risk Oliver had decided to take. “He’s harmless. But needed my help.”

“A boy?” Susan looked up at him, her brown eyes hard. “How old?”

Oliver shrugged.

“Maybe sixteen. I haven’t asked him yet. But he was wet and freezing, and he was going to get eaten by an animal, or worse.” He stopped for a moment. “He’s just a boy.”

He watched, as Susan sighed.

“Damn your good heart, mister Oliver,” she said, and put out her cigarette, huffed again. “Come on, take me to see him. Let’s see what we can do.”

Behind her gruff demeanour, she really cared, about all of them. She was a motherly figure for everyone at camp. And, as he led her to his room, Oliver knew she had already decided to help Elio, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments to the prologue! I’ve decided to give it a go and continue it, if you like it and will read!
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter? I’ll keep going if you guys want me to. 
> 
> Ps. Susan is not a completely original character - she’s inspired by a character in the game. 
> 
> Xx


	3. Family

When Elio woke up, it took him a few moments to get his bearings. At first he couldn’t remember where he was; looking around himself, trying to blink the sleep away quickly, his heart started beating faster. He remembered the rain, the cold, the howling of wolves he’d heard in the distance that had chilled his insides.

But right now, as he pulled himself up to sitting, his hands could touch the rough fabric of a mattress - a makeshift one, of course, stuffed with hay, but a mattress nonetheless.

He still felt chilly, but way less than before - and he realised he had a piece of fox hide covering his shoulders. He realised he was indoors. Inside a room, between four walls. They were run down, the white paint yellowed out and fallen off in parts. The wooden door was half rotten, but still closed. There were a few pieces of furniture: a chest of drawers, a small table. A wardrobe, its doors ajar due to humidity and old age, the inside empty.

Elio rubbed at his eyes, and tried to take a deep breath. Now he remembered.

This man, called Oliver, had taken him from the only place he’d thought he could hide in, the first cave in the mountain he’d found, and brought him here. Oliver had been kind. Concerned.

Oliver, who was an outlaw.

“Elio? Are you awake?”

As if Oliver had sensed where Elio’s thoughts had gone, he was now calling out for him from the hallway.

Elio looked around himself, trying to think of an exit strategy that didn’t involve the only door there was. But he was one floor up. The only alternative way out was if he jumped through the broken window, and he didn’t think he’d really survive such a stunt.

He steeled himself, and called back to Oliver. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m up.”

The door opened, very slowly, and Oliver walked in. Elio blinked fast, trying to make sure he could see properly, in case he needed to defend himself.

But Oliver had his hands out, showing his palms, showing he was unarmed - and was smiling gently.

“Hey, kid. It’s just me. How are you feeling?”

Elio swallowed. His throat felt hoarse.

“G-Good. Just - thirsty.”

Oliver nodded.

“I’ll bring you some water. We have coffee, too, if you want some.” He paused for a moment. “Listen, I have someone here I want you to meet. Her name is Susan. She runs the whole camp. She’ll be able to help you - with clothes, medicine, if you need to wash.”

Elio frowned, blinked again, trying to process Oliver’s words. He realised the man was waiting for a sign from him; and so he nodded, tentatively.

“Alright. I’ll let her in. She can be very - direct. Don’t be scared - she wants to help.”

Elio just watched, as a moment later, Oliver opened the door, and gestured for someone to come in.

A lady appeared. She was wearing a dark red dress, and her eyes fixed on Elio with intensity.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart. I’m Susan. Mister Oliver here told me about you. Think we need to get you all settled, don’t we?”

Elio looked up, from her to Oliver, eyes wide. But Oliver was nodding at him; and so Elio nodded back, too, minutely.

“Wonderful. Mister Oliver, leave us please? Go get the little one some water. Elio, this is your name, right?”

Elio nodded, watching Oliver leave from the corner of his eye.

“Alright. We’ll get you into a bath right now, get you good and clean. Come, follow me.”

Susan led him down the stairs, to a different room, where a large wooden bucket was, filled with water.

“Here, doll. Get undressed, get into the water. It’s nice and warm, we boil it up in the morning for all of us.” Susan said, closing the door. “Blessing from the heavens, that well out there is. Now come on! Get those clothes off, no being precious here. I had three boys, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before!”

Elio did as he was told, albeit hesitantly. As soon as he dropped his clothes, Susan picked them up, dumped them in to a nearby, smaller bucket to soak.

Elio lowered himself into the water; it was warm, and it felt heavenly on his nearly frostbitten skin.

“There’s a piece of soap, and a cloth to scrub yourself,” Susan instructed. “I expect mister Oliver will introduce you to everyone here in a moment. They’re a right crazy bunch, but don’t be afraid,alright? We’re all a family. We look out for each other.”

Scrubbing himself slowly, Elio nodded.

“Good boy,” Susan praised. She gave him her first real smile. “Now. You may want to tell Mister Oliver how you ended up all alone where he found you. There’s real mean people out there, he needs to know how to protect you.”

She stood from where she was crouched next to him, and picked up what looked like folded clothes and a larger piece of cloth from a chest of drawers in the corner.

“Here,” she said, placing them on the wooden floor next to the bucket. “Dry yourself up and wear these when you’re done. I’ll get Mister Oliver to wait for you outside.” She gave Elio another, small smile.

“He’ll look after you good. Don’t you worry.”

And with that, she left.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver was waiting for him outside the door, just like Susan said. He was so tall Elio had to look up to find his eyes. But as he stood there, and looked at Elio in his new outfit of borrowed clothes, too large for his small frame, Oliver smiled, and it was radiant.

“Better now?”

Elio hugged himself in his oversized shirt and nodded.

“Yeah. Much.”

“Alright. Are you up for something to eat?”

Elio was, honestly, starving. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had some food; he’d tried to look for something edible in the woods, before going into hiding, but the only berries he’d found he hadn’t trusted himself to eat. He’d been afraid of poisoning himself.

And now, he was so hungry, his legs were almost giving in from under him.

The plate of stew Oliver offered him was plentiful and steaming hot. Elio didn’t know what was in it, but he found he really didn’t care.

He would have never been like that back home - he used to have a difficult palate. But now, now he was ready to eat just about anything.

Oliver sat quietly next to him, eating from his own bowl, sipping from a cup of coffee from time to time.

After breakfast, Oliver asked him if he was tired; and nodded, pleased, when Elio replied he wasn’t.

Oliver took him around camp to meet everyone. Some of the men were sat around the fire, smoking cigars. Two girls were cleaning up, tidying up what they could, making sure that the horses were hitched and didn’t wander inside camp; another, younger guy was chopping wood.

Elio didn’t know what he was expecting. To be questioned? To be rejected? It seemed like every member of the gang knew what their enemies looked like, what they needed to watch out for - and they had decided Elio wasn’t one of them. The girls had looked at him with sympathy, asked him if he was okay, if he was hurt. He had just been able to shake his head, and mutter a quiet ‘no’. They had welcomed him into the group.

By the time Oliver took him back into his room, Elio was even quieter, thinking furiously.

“Hey, kid. What is it?” Oliver asked.

Elio bit his lower lip, eyebrows knitted in a frown, while he sat down on Oliver’s bed.

“Why are you so kind to me?” he finally asked.

Oliver narrowed his eyes in confusion, and took a moment to respond.

“Because you need help,” he said, simply.

Elio took a breath.

“Is this - what outlaws do?”

He watched, as Oliver stared at him for a few moments. Then the older man sat next to him, and cleared his throat. He’d left a wide space between them; Elio noticed, and appreciated it.

“I know this may seem confusing. But the thing is. We are not outlaws because... because we want to harm people. Because we like to kill, because we hold a grudge.” He paused. “I mean, some people here do hold a grudge,” he admitted with a chuckle. “But, all of us at some point have been lost, in need of help. Albert, our boss? He put all of us together. He raised us. He helped all of us, and we help each other.”

Elio looked down at his feet. At the boots he was wearing, that Susan had so readily given him to use while his own were being stitched up.

He spoke, quietly, very quietly.

“But you don’t even know who I am. Where I came from.”

Oliver’s hand reached towards him, index finger nudging his chin gently to look up at him. Elio let him, even though he knew Oliver could see his red-rimmed eyes.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Oliver asked, voice soft.

Elio took a deep breath, and tried to find the strength to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided for this story I will switch their POV from time to time. I think it’ll be good to see things from their different perspectives. 
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think and if you’d like to read more! Thank you so much I love you x


	4. Heart To Heart

“I’m - I’m from East Falls. In Pennsylvania,” Elio started. “My mom and dad are Italian, originally. We have - we have this house, just by the countryside. We - live well.” He took a deep breath. He wasn’t looking up at Oliver, but rather down, at his own hand, as he absentmindedly worried a strand of hay from the bed with his fingers. “I mean, nothing had really happened, for... I guess, that day, I was just - annoyed. You will think I’m a spoiled brat,” and he raised his gaze now, looking up, almost shy.

“I won’t,” Oliver promised. “Go ahead.”

“We - my mom has this housekeeper, she raised me since I was a baby. She still kind of - she’s still all over me, you know, always wanting to know what I do and where I go, things like that. So, that day, we had an argument. And I left.”

Elio was looking back down, at his hand. He brought over the other, interlaced the fingers together. They were trembling.

“I went as far into the city as I could, and it got dark. And I guess - I guess they were waiting for me. I don’t know. But - they took me. Pulled me into - into a carriage.”

Oliver watched him. Listened, carefully. The boy sounded distressed; Oliver wished he could touch him, comfort him. But he didn’t know if it would help. It might even upset him more. And so, he just let him continue.

“I - I knew who they were, because my dad had had problems with them before. They threatened us, before. So, they tied me up, yelled. I didn’t say anything, I wasn’t - I wasn’t screaming, but they still shouted at me. Told me to shut up, to stay still. Or they would hurt me.”

Oliver nodded; encouragingly. Hoped that Elio could see it, even though his eyes were firmly trained down to his tense hands.

“I don’t know where they wanted to take me. I don’t know where - where they live.” He tried to contain a sob. “I don’t know how long we travelled for. But it was night time, and I think - I think the horse got attacked by a pack of wolves. They had to stop. So - I just, I just ran. Jumped down, ran as fast as I could.” Elio sobbed again, and then smiled, bitterly. “They didn’t even tie me up properly. I undid that piece of cord so easily. Idiots.”

Oliver nodded.

“I’m sorry, kid. I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

Elio raised tearful eyes to Oliver. He looked even smaller now, as his chest hitched with quiet sobs.

“Why was this gang threatening your family?” Oliver asked. He needed to know as many details as possible, if he hoped to protect this boy. He had clearly been kidnapped for ransom; or for revenge. Maybe both.

“My mother - her family is rich,” Elio said, candidly. “They want money. Our money.”

Oliver nodded again.

“Your family must be worried sick,” he said softly.

The boy wiped his eyes with the back of a hand, but more tears kept sliding down his cheeks.

“It’s - it’s better if they still look for me. If they don’t know where I am.”

“You... you don’t want to go back?”

“I-“ Elio started, bit his lip, hard. “When they were shouting, they told me if - if I tried to escape, they would find me, and kill anybody they found me with.”

He was still trembling, his lower lip quivering with distress. But, as soon as he said the words, he froze. He didn’t look up; but spoke again, quietly.

“Now that you know. You don’t - I’ll understand if you don’t want me here. I’ll - I’ll go. I’ll go straight away.”

Oliver took a deep breath; his heart squeezed.

This boy, this young boy, trembling, crying; alone, and lost; still showed more courage than some of Oliver’s fellow gang members would ever muster.

“No. Of course not. You’re here now,” he found himself saying, his voice firm. “It doesn’t matter what happened before. I’m here to help you, now.”

It was a huge promise - Oliver knew that. Just like Elio had said, now that he knew his story, now that he knew that Elio had people after him, criminals - keeping Elio with the gang meant putting everyone at risk.

But that wasn’t how they had been raised to think. That was not how the gang worked. They were there to protect each other, to leave no one behind.

And the more time he spent with the boy, the more Oliver wanted to keep him safe. He wasn’t going to abandon him now.

Elio sobbed quietly once more, and then looked up at him. As if he could hear his thoughts. His eyes were still red rimmed; but there was a tiny, tiny glimmer of hope shimmering now in his hazel irises.

Oliver sighed.

“Do you want to do something, today? Maybe go hunting, just in the woods around here? We’re protected. It’s by the side of the mountain, it’s like a fortress.”

Elio wiped at his face again, stretched his lips into a little smile.

“Sorry. I’m not very good with blood.”

“Alright.” Oliver looked around his room, and his eyes fell on his fishing rod. “Do you want to come with me to catch some trout for dinner, then?”

He watched, as Elio chuckled, very softly. His eyes shone when he smiled; Oliver decided he was going to try and make him smile as often as he could.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The fish were taking a while to bite, that day, but it was fine for Oliver

It was a really nice morning, sunny and warm. The small river was right by their camp, at the foot of the mountain that protected them from view. Oliver enjoyed fishing. It allowed him to think. And when he went fishing with someone else, it allowed him to converse with them, get to know them.

“Make sure you hold the rod firmly. Reel the wire in, like that. Don’t jostle it too much, or it’ll spook the fish.”

Elio did as he was instructed, his hands closed around the handle of the fishing rod as he sat down on the grass by the river bank. Next to him, Oliver smiled. Looked on at his own fishing rod.

“How did you... how did you end up in a gang?” Elio asked, softly, tentatively. “You don’t have to tell me,” he corrected himself quickly. “It’s fine if you don’t want to.”

“You told me your story. It’s only fair that I tell you mine, right?” Oliver replied. He had nothing to hide; he was happy for Elio to know more about him.

“I think it’s nothing remarkable. Grew up inVirginia. Didn’t have it good with my family. My father died when I was ten. I left at fifteen, tried to work here and there; until I met Albert. He offered me some jobs. Took me in with him and Susan. A couple of people were already with them, more joined later. He taught me to read, he taught me everything about this life. I’ve been with them for nearly ten years.”

Elio turned to him, eyes wide.

“Oh, wow.” His expression was a mixture of surprise and awe. “Such a long time. You’re twenty five, now?”

“Almost,” Oliver said. “What about you?”

“I turned seventeen two weeks ago,” Elio said. “The day of my birthday was the last time I saw my dad. Before he went travelling  for work, and - and I was taken.”

Elio’s eyes had that sad look in them once again. The boy looked ahead, at the water trickling quietly. The light of the morning reflecting itself on the see-through surface. 

Oliver promised himself he was going to help Elio find his way back to his family. He was going to help this boy be happy again.

One way or another.


	5. Camp Life

The day after, when Elio woke up, it was dawn.

A chilly breeze was coming through the broken window; but the rays of the rising sun, reflecting on the shards that still held onto the ruined wooden frame, made too beautiful a spectacle for Elio not to be distracted by them.

He stood, pulling the fox fur tighter around his shoulders, and walked to the window, peeked outside. He could hear hushed murmuring, Susan’s voice. It seemed like she never slept.

The sky was clear, the light through the trees shining a warm gold.

Elio wondered what time it was. And if it was alright, for him to wander out, look for Oliver.

Elio felt really bad at the thought of what those nights spent sleeping on the cold marble were doing to Oliver’s back. He really wished he had the guts to tell him that he didn’t want him to give up his room for Elio.

Tentatively, he opened the door, glanced outside on the landing, at the bench Oliver slept on just outside his room, but he wasn’t there.

Elio walked down the stairs. He didn’t have a plan, but he knew he didn’t want to sleep anymore. He was awake, now.

He looked around, at the clearing just outside, where tents were pitted for a few of the gang members who didn’t have a shelter within the building - there just wasn’t space for everyone.

The horses were grazing quietly by the side of the camp.

Elio always loved horses. His parents had a stable, and as a child he went there often to visit his father’s two mares, and the grey foal that one of them had birthed. A couple of years later, that foal had grown into the young horse his father gifted him for his thirteenth birthday. And that’s how Elio learned to ride.

He didn’t know if he was allowed to go near the gang’s horses, though. He didn’t want to be reprimanded by the men; Albert, Susan’s husband, the boss, intimidated him particularly. He hadn’t spoken to Elio yet, but every time he’d seen him in the past two days he stared, as if he was trying to figure him out. Elio didn’t want to put a foot wrong with him. He didn’t think even Oliver would be able to cover his back, should he cross Albert.

He walked to the edge of camp, where the grass turned slowly into rocks and sand, the bank of the river. That’s where he and Oliver had fished the day before.

Elio looked at the water, trickling calmly. Looked at the other side of the river. It was quite a large body of water. Elio wondered if the other side was safe. Or if there would be enemies - bandits, pirates - over there.

He wondered where home was.

“Good morning,” Oliver’s familiar voice greeted. The man was standing next to Elio, and the boy almost jumped. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” Elio shook his head, feeling his cheeks get warmer. He was such a girl. 

Oliver reached out, with his hand, and was holding something. Elio turned to look: it was bread, and a piece of cheese.

“Susan told me you didn’t have any food,” Oliver offered.

Elio looked up into his face, as if he felt he needed to ask permission before taking the food from Oliver’s hands. The truth was - he felt guilty. He felt like he was taking food from these people, without really deserving it. After all, he had joined their camp, but they hadn’t had a choice in it.

“You need to help yourself to the food,” Oliver told him, sensing what Elio might have been thinking about. “It’s there, for everyone. And you need to gain your strength back.”

Elio looked up again, only just noticing that he had been staring at his piece of bread and cheese as if they stored some precious answer within them.

Oliver’s face was relaxed. He wasn’t unhappy. He was encouraging him.

Elio took a deep breath.

“Thank you. For - all this. But I just - I think I feel like I don’t deserve it, really. I’m taking stuff from - them,” and he indicated towards camp, with a sweeping motion of his hand. “And I don’t do anything to earn it.”

A frown appeared between Oliver’s eyebrows.

“You don’t have to earn it. You need food. And we have it, here, for everyone.“

Elio kept looking at him, lips pursed in thought.

“Fine, okay. If you want to feel like you contribute, then, I understand,” Oliver nodded. “There’s things you can do around camp to make yourself useful. Sweep the communal area. Tidy up the medicine cabinet. Clean the horse garments...”

Elio’s eyes lit up.

“Can I? Please?”

“Well,” Oliver laughed. “I’ve never seen anyone so excited at the prospect of cleaning up after horses...”

“It’s not, I mean. I can do something else. But...” Elio rushed to correct.

Oliver smiled. “No, no, it’s fine. Come on, let’s go. I’ll introduce you to our army.”

And Elio found himself smiling back, as he followed Oliver to the animals.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By the end of the day, he’d met all the horses. Baylock, the American paint. Armand, the grey shire. Arthur, Oliver’s horse, whom Elio already knew; and Isabella and Buell, the two Arabians.

Elio had been impressed. Where did they get Arabians from? And then he’d bitten his tongue, realised how his question sounded. ‘You’re not rich. How can you afford purebred animals?’

But Oliver had just smiled, said the gang had bought them for Albert and Susan, the day they finally got married. They’d put money together, and used part of the gang fund.

Elio smiled back. It was a good story, and he certainly didn’t want to look too much into it.

Elio had also swept the kitchen and the hall of the building. Picked wood for the fire.

He felt good. Useful. He felt as if Albert’s gaze on him was a bit less intimidating, now.

That night, as various gang members ate their food together around the fire, Elio sat with them. Well, not exactly with them; more next to Oliver, who sat on a log, slightly behind from the circle in which the others sat in.

Elio curled up next to him, fox fur on his shoulders, and bit into the leg of roasted rabbit he had been given, with a little more hunger than he had the day before.

He left quietly when the time came to retire for the night.

Camp life was very much dictated by sunsets and sunrises; Elio found he didn’t actually mind. There always was a small group of men who stayed up, around the fire, smoking and drinking bourbon.

Elio was happy to go up to the room, with Oliver. Both of them planning to go to sleep.

As they reached the door to Oliver’s room, Elio hesitated.

“Good night,” Oliver said. Started to take off his jacket, making it into a makeshift pillow to put on his bench.

“I - “ Elio started. Tried again. “You don’t - have to sleep out here. You know? You could come in.” He realised, instantly, how that maybe could sound. At the very least, rude: as if he was giving Oliver permission to use his own room. And if not rude, certainly inappropriate. He’d probably sounded like a harlot. “What I meant is,” he corrected himself quickly. “What I meant is you don’t have to leave the room to me. I can sleep out here.”

Oliver smiled, his lips tight. “Nah,” he said. “You’re safer inside. It makes me feel better, too.”

“But then you could sleep in there too. There’s enough room,” Elio rushed to say. And then, more quietly: “I don’t mind. The floor with some hay on it is better than this marble bench.”

He tried to infuse his words with as much surety as he could. He really did mean it. If Oliver didn’t mind, Elio certainly was okay with him sleeping in the same room. On a comfortable surface. Elio felt he certainly owed Oliver, at least that.

“And you’ll be able to watch over me even easier, if you’re in the room with me,” he concluded.

He almost meant it as a joke, but Oliver set his jaw, and then nodded. Once, stiff.

“All right. But you need to tell me if you become uncomfortable.”

Elio nodded, watching him as Oliver picked up his jacket, then waited for him to go into the room. He wondered why Oliver was being so careful, with him - he was sure he must have slept on the floor with other men, before.

But he didn’t mind. In fact, as he watched Oliver sit down on the floor, on a thin layer of hay and a blanket for a mattress, he took a breath.

It felt like Oliver really cared, like Elio, for him, was something to be looked after. Something important. It was the first time anyone had been like that towards him, aside his family. And Elio felt his cheeks colour with warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little chapter to push the plot forward a bit. And because I promised myself I’d post today. 
> 
> I smile every time I see a comment, so please, make me smile! I need it :) 
> 
> Let me know what you think x


	6. It happens, sometimes

Three more days went by, quiet and slow.

The weather was nice; chilly, but sunny.

Elio tried to help out around camp as much as he could. Right now it wasn’t even out of the sense of duty he felt strongly at the beginning. He’d started enjoying feeling useful, because it allowed him to get to know the other members of the gang.

He was still shy, but he spoke if he was spoken to, he tried to eat with the others when Oliver did, and he cleaned up, fed the horses, tidied up the main room. He hoped to earn the trust of the others, not just Oliver’s.

He learnt that the gang was laying low after an incident that happened a few weeks prior. They were hiding, to avoid being found, until enough time had gone by that they could start showing up in the nearby towns again.

Elio didn’t know all the details, and couldn’t understand the whole situation, just yet. He hadn’t asked Oliver, but he promised himself he would.

He didn’t want to seem nosy.

But Oliver told him that he’d help him find his family once it was safe to do so. Elio didn’t know when this was going to be.

He missed his family, that was for sure; but for now, he could cope. He didn’t know where his kidnappers were, but he knew they’d be looking for him if he wasn’t careful, he knew they’d go after his family if he were returned to them.

For now, hiding made sense for Elio, too.

Then, the following morning, something happened.

Elio woke up to noise outside. Voices from the gang, names being shouted out. He heard the horses neigh.

Oliver wasn’t in the room with him, but as Elio pulled himself up to look from the window, the door opened, and the older man appeared.

“Stay in here,” Oliver ordered, his voice firm. “Close the door, and don’t move. Do you understand?”

Elio frowned. His heart started beating faster. “Where are you going?” he asked Oliver.

“I’ll be back soon. You stay here. Understood?”

Oliver’s eyes were steely and firm and Elio could only nod, confused.

Oliver closed the door, and left.

Elio only heard the voices getting softer, the noise of galloping, getting more distant as the seconds ticked by. And then nothing else.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio waited, and waited. An hour went by.

He tried to listen for voices or noises outside. He wondered where everybody else was; he worried something really bad had happened. He worried something really bad was going to happen to him too.

But then there was a knock on his door, his name whispered by a female voice.Susan.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asked, as she opened the door, the no-nonsense tone of her voice betrayed by her worried eyes which scanned Elio carefully.

“Yes,” Elio murmured. “I - I don’t know what happened.”

“Good, good.” Shed’d only listened to the first part of his answer. “It’s not safe out there. I came to bring you some bread. Eat this, and then wait. They’ll be back soon.”

Elio took the bread from her, but then looked up, trying to catch her eyes again.

“What’s going on?”

“It happens, sometimes,” Susan just said. “Now hush. Stay in here, do as Oliver said. I need to go and check on the girls. We all have to do our part.”

And with that, she left.

And Elio was so confused. He wanted to understand. He wanted to know why he couldn’t leave the room, if he could not hear anything outside. He wanted Oliver back, to answer his questions, to calm the agitation in his heart.

He didn’t want to stay in the room and wait, he wanted to go out there, find out what the hell was happening. He wanted to go and look for Oliver himself.

But something inside told him that was not how it worked, in the gang. Susan told him to do what Oliver said. Oliver had said to wait.

And so Elio sat back down on the bed, curled up, leaning against the wall; and hugged himself, waited for Oliver to return.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He’d been nodding off, when the door finally opened again.

Elio blinked his heavy eyelids to see Oliver taking off his bullet belt and gun holster, dropping them down on the floor, and then sitting down himself, taking a breath, running a hand through his hair.

“Are you okay?” Oliver asked, without lifting his eyes to look at Elio.

“Yeah, I’m okay. But what about you? What happened, Oliver?”

Oliver still didn’t look up.

“The Mudbrood gang. Alcyd went hunting, said he saw a couple of them hanging around not far from here. We had to - investigate.”

Elio eyed the missing bullets on Oliver’s belt.

“Investigate? Did you find them?”

Oliver, finally, looked up.

“Yeah. We found them. And now they’re not a threat anymore.”

He said it so matter-of-factly. And Elio had to swallow, for a moment. “You killed them?” he asked, quietly.

“Yes.” Oliver didn’t hesitate.

Elio swallowed again.

He curled up tighter against the wall; knees hugged into his chest.

“I’m sorry I had to leave so quickly. You must have been so confused,” Oliver said. “But we just needed to make sure that you and the others were safe here. We had to make it look like there’s no one in the house, in case they managed to find their way here.”

Elio took a breath. “Does this... happen often?”

“It might not happen for months, and then we get attacked twice in a day.”

Oliver’s face was emotionless. Like it was a completely normal thing. Elio supposed for Oliver, it was.

“If our hideout gets discovered, we have to move again.”

Elio blinked, took a breath.

“We didn’t... we didn’t get discovered. This time. Right?”

He realised how quickly he’d asked, and he also realised - he wasn’t asking because he was just thinking about his kidnappers. His first thought had been about the gang. About everyone.

“No, no,” Oliver shook his head, gave a little smile. “We didn’t get discovered.”

Elio nodded, and let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He told Oliver he was tired, and wanted to rest for a while longer, if he could. Oliver left him in the room, promising he’d bring him some stew from dinner. He’d hesitated on the door, his expression worried - Elio figured he was concerned Elio might be getting sick, and so he did his best to show that he was just tired.

He wanted some time alone to think.

He felt really, really stupid.

Oliver was in a gang. Oliver killed people.

And yet Elio hadn’t thought about that.

Yes, he knew they were outlaws. But he’d figured - it was easy to become outlaws, out there. You didn’t need to be a murderer - all you needed was for someone, a jealous neighbour perhaps, a scorned lover - to tell the authorities the money you had was stolen, that if your business was thriving, it was because of illegal practices you picked up from Europe, or Asia perhaps. All it was needed, sometimes, was a cop who didn’t like you.

You didn’t need to kill people, to be outlaws.

But Oliver did. Oliver did, and Elio felt stupid for not having realised this fully.

Oliver did not kill people only for defence, only if someone attacked him or the gang. He went looking for their enemies, he found them, he slaughtered them.

Elio wondered how many people he’d killed.

He stood up. Took a deep breath, and walked to the window, rising on tiptoes to peek outside over the broken, dirty shard of glass still attached to the window frame.

Camp was lively again. People were smiling, walking around doing their chores. They all had a function, ‘we all have to do our part’, Susan had said. There was order in the chaos.

They were murderers, but within camp, they still had rules.

Elio sighed again, cursing his inability to just accept all this as quickly as he hoped. Before today he’d thought he was integrating quite well, that if he had to spend the foreseeable future with the gang, then he was doing okay at getting used to everything - but today had been a reality check, one he wasn’t expecting.

He felt, at the same time, stupid and frustrated with himself.

A horse neighed then, and Elio pushed up on his tiptoes even more to glance at the hitching posts. The animals were grazing, quietly, for the most part.

Elio ran a hand through his curls, and then went to lie down, fox fur covering his body, hoping to persuade his mind to stop thinking.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Do you think I could have a horse?” Elio asked the day after.

He and Oliver were having breakfast together around the fire, really early in the morning. Oliver had promised to take him fishing again, and to maybe explore some of the area, teach him about herbs they usually used at camp.

“Already thinking of leaving us?” Oliver responded, looking up from his bowl of soup. His eyes were smiling, but Elio rushed to respond.

“No, no. Of course not. But I just thought - if we ever have to move again - I know how to horseback ride. I can be - I could be useful.”

Oliver was looking at him, so interestedly, and Elio felt himself blush, felt the strong urge to look away. He’d rushed to answer, so quickly as if he’d needed to deny wanting to leave Oliver himself, wanting to break that peculiar relationship they seemed to have between them. He bit the inside of his lip, cursed himself mentally. Oliver certainly didn’t need a kid like him to tag along everywhere. Oliver surely didn’t need him to have a horse - Elio wasn’t one of the gang members.

“It’s difficult for us to buy horses right now, as we’re trying to lay low. Can’t go into town, which is a real shame,” Oliver said then. There was a smile in his voice, and Elio looked up, eyes wide, genuinely surprised. Oliver was considering his idea?

“I know a good place where we can find some wild mounts to tame. Just not now. Freshly broken horses are unpredictable.”

Oliver had basically said no, but left the matter open, for them to revisit in the future. Elio was speechless - inside, his heart was beating fast.

“Just - promise you won’t leave me. Not just yet.”

Oliver’s eyes were looking up again from his bowl as the older man took a sip, hiding his smile, waiting for Elio’s reaction.

And the boy bit his lip, feeling his cheeks flush again. He shook his head quickly, and tried to give Oliver a smile.

His heart was beating so loudly it echoed through his whole body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow burn! We’re getting there. ;)
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you are reading!!!! 
> 
> Love xx


	7. Dreams

Sadie was one of the only three women at camp.

She was blonde, smiley. Pretty. With very lively chestnut eyes that had observed Elio interestedly when he arrived.

She was good friends with Oliver, and often came to converse with him when he and Elio were having food, or sitting around the fire in the evening just before retiring for the night.

She seemed bright, and like she knew so many things. Elio figured she must be in her mid-twenties, perhaps the same age as Oliver.

Oliver had brought her to camp, about a year prior, just like he did with Elio.

That day, after lunch, Elio finished tending to the horses, and upon returning to camp he found Sadie and Oliver talking, laughing together.

Elio hesitated, at first, but then continued walking towards them. He didn’t want to turn around and go back into the house, if they had already seen him.

“Hey, Elio,” Oliver greeted him, smiling.

Sadie was smiling at him, too, and Elio made himself smile back, stood there as they sat around the fire.

“Elio is so helpful around here,” Sadie said. “And much better than me at most things around camp. Susan always yells at me for the way I tidy up.”

Elio bit his lip, looked over at Oliver, to watch for his reaction. He didn’t help out to be praised, but of course, knowing he was doing a good job made him proud. He could feel Oliver’s gaze on him, and he looked away, pretending he didn’t notice - although he felt warm in the middle of his chest.

“Sadie is more of a tomboy,” Oliver said. “And she doesn’t take offence when I say that.”

“It’s the truth,” Sadie nodded. “Elio, I am going to wear pants like the rest of the men around here. These drapes,” and here she lifted a leg, to show the heavy linen skirt she was wearing, “they’re not useful for anything. You need to go forage - they get stuck in the shrubs. You need to run - they slow you down like hell. It’s complete madness.”

Elio looked at her. She was different than the other women he’d met in his life. She was so spirited, so opinionated. So unafraid of speaking up about matters of tactics and plans, with a confidence that was usually afforded only to the men around camp.

“And you do like to hunt. You’re getting better and better at it, too,” Oliver added, nodding towards Sadie, his eyes proud.

“First deer, then the Mudbrood,” Sadie said, a hardness in her gaze as she said it.

Elio shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

Yes, Sadie was just perfect for Oliver.

He found her. He brought her to the gang. He was going out to hunt with her, he praised her, and soon they were going to go kill members of the rival gang together.

While Elio could only do menial tasks at camp, and was scared of blood.

“I’m - just going to rest for a bit,” he said, wanting more than anything to be inside, in the room, with the door closed and possibly the night outside, so that he didn’t have to see anyone.

He saw Oliver turn to look at him, but the older man only nodded - didn’t say anything. And so Elio walked away, back inside the mansion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That night, Elio went to sleep early.

No matter how hard he tried, however, he couldn’t relax. And even once he nodded off, he dreamt; intense dreams, keeping his mind awake while his body was asleep.

He opened his eyes again, and it was still dark outside. Oliver was asleep on his cot on the other side of the room.

Elio hid his face under his arm.

He couldn’t understand what was happening to him. He felt a weird something squeezing his chest, a strange pressure that made it difficult to breathe normally.

He liked Oliver.

It was the first time, ever, that he experienced those kind of feelings for another person. The first time he felt attracted to someone.

And Oliver was so attractive.

He had light brown hair which changed to blond under the sun. Blue eyes, framed by dark eyelashes. He was tall, strong, well-built - Elio had noticed. He was intelligent, and brave.

Elio didn’t know what was happening to him.

Shouldn’t he like girls? Wasn’t that what boys his age should do?

He had never been with a girl. Never kissed one. He hadn’t been interested, growing up - he was way more interested in reading books, studying, writing music.

But now, now he was interested in someone - except, this someone was a man. A cowboy. An outlaw, a murderer.

Elio pulled his legs up towards his chest to curl into a ball. He didn’t know how to deal with this. It wasn’t just about who Oliver was - Oliver clearly liked Sadie. They were made for one another. She was brave and fearless and liked to hunt and chase bad guys.

Elio was sure they had already been together. Perhaps Oliver went to visit her at night, while Elio was asleep.

Yeah, surely that’s what he was doing.

While here he was, Elio, the last to join the others - the runt of the litter. The kid who fell for the charms of the rugged cowboy, but didn’t know what to do, was way too inexperienced to compete with anyone else for his attentions.

Elio ran his hand through his curls, pulling at them in frustration. He hoped to fall asleep again as soon as possible, and stop thinking; so he closed his eyes, breathed deep. 

It wasn’t working. His thoughts kept wandering back to the situation. To the man sleeping a few feet from him.

Elio was really tired, and maybe that’s why he didn’t have enough willpower to stop the thoughts. Oliver with Sadie. Oliver, happy with her. Sadie, in love with Oliver.

Oliver kissing Sadie.

And when his brain made the switch, Elio was sleepy enough that he almost didn’t notice - couldn’t stop it. Perhaps didn’t want to stop it, either.

Oliver kissing him. Oliver pulling Elio to him, guiding their kiss. How would it be, how would it feel like - if Oliver did that? Would Oliver be strong and forceful, would he push his fingers into Elio’s curls; would Elio have to step on tiptoes to follow his lead?

Would Oliver want to sleep with him? Would Oliver bring him back to the room. Would Elio tremble, would he be scared when Oliver undressed him?

How would it be, to lie with Oliver? To let Oliver make love to him? Would it hurt - would Elio have to grit his teeth? He would do it, if it meant he could experience Oliver like that. Like Sadie probably was.

He wanted to be in Sadie’s place. He wanted to. He did.

And on the echo of those thoughts, Elio let sleep finally wash over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me happy :)


	8. Home sick

“Hey, Elio,” Oliver called, softly, as he stepped into his room. “Are you all right?”

The boy had gone back inside right after breakfast. Hadn’t hung around with Oliver and the others, as he’d started doing the past few days. Oliver worried he might be coming down with something.

“I’m fine,” Elio replied. He was sitting on his cot. He had his knees hugged to his chest, his eyes focused on a spot on the stone floor, as if he was thinking. He didn’t look at Oliver.

“You came back here so quick. Thought you’d be with Arthur, I went looking for you.”

Elio blinked. “Sorry. I’ll go and feed him in a moment,” he said quickly.

Oliver shook his head - Elio must have misunderstood him.

“No, no. I didn’t mean like that. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“I’m okay.”

Oliver frowned. Elio seemed so cold. He’d never been like that with him, and Oliver couldn’t figure out what could have happened. Did he do something to make Elio upset?

He didn’t really know how to make it better, but he tried, anyway.

“Is there anything you want to do this afternoon?”

Elio looked away again. “I wish I had my books to read,” he said only.

His voice so matter-of-fact. So clinical.

Oliver hesitated for a moment.

He didn’t really know how to handle this. Was Elio home sick? He must be.Oliver’s gut gave a squeeze at the thought that Elio wanted to leave, but then again, it made sense. It was natural. The boy was only seventeen, a child, alone without his family. This situation must be so scary for him. From what it seemed, from what Elio had told him, what Oliver called his day to day life was, instead, extraordinary circumstances for Elio. Frightening ones as well, and the boy had to adapt so quickly.

All the same, Oliver still didn’t know what to do. How to make him feel better.

“I’ll - let you rest. I’m sure you don’t want me hanging around you. I’ll be downstairs when you want to come down.”

He watched for a reaction, but, although Elio did look up at him, he didn’t really reply. Only nodded, faintly.

Oliver turned on his heels, and left, closing the door behind himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The afternoon went by unremarkably, with a hunting session Oliver had to take part in, as the food for the communal meals at camp was becoming quickly scarce. The evening saw more chores to be done.

Oliver made sure to keep an eye on Elio, and saw him come out, and when he was given food for supper, he sat not far from the others.

But then, once again, he went back to the room. And when Oliver retired for the night, too, Elio seemed fast asleep already.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He was already up by the time Oliver woke the next day, and Oliver could not deny that he’d felt relieved to see the boy downstairs, helping with breakfast - for a moment, he’d thought he’d gone during the night.

Oliver had promised Sadie another archery lesson that morning, and so they headed out to the woods behind camp for it. By the time they were back, Elio was with the horses, quietly brushing Armand’s mane.

Oliver longed to speak to him, but didn’t know if it’d be welcome. And so, instead, he pulled out a cigar from his belt. He didn’t really smoke them so often, but when he saw Susan and Sadie by the edge of the clearing, the older woman smoking a cigarette and looking out at the plain sprawling below their hill, he decided to join them. And perhaps receive some advice.

“I don’t really know how to do this,” Oliver said, inhaling the smoke from his cigar in a long, slow pull.

Susan gave him a quizzical look, and then took another puff of her cigarette.

“Elio,” Oliver clarified. “The boy. He isn’t speaking to me. He was in my room the whole day yesterday, didn’t want to come out. Barely spoke this morning.”

“He seemed fine before, didn’t he?” Susan quipped. “He’s probably just home sick. Kids that age miss their parents even though they don’t want to admit it.”

Oliver nodded.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. But he hasn’t said anything. He’s only said he wishes he had his books to read.”

“He’s lonely,” Susan said. She stubbed out her cigarette. “And bored. Let’s face it, Mister Oliver, life at camp is as exciting as Mister Hosea’s chess games. The same thing, over and over again.”

Next to her, Sadie chuckled. “You know I completely agree with the sentiment,” she said, looking at Oliver.

“He doesn’t want to hunt. And sure as hell I’m not going to take him with me on missions. I’m not going to let him anywhere near those Mudbroods again.”

Oliver’s voice was determined, and both Susan and Sadie looked at him, observing his expression.

“It’s fair enough, I tell ya,” Susan decided, and then waved goodbye at them with her hand, walking back to camp.

Sadie crossed her arms over her chest.

“Let me speak to him?” she said. “Maybe I can find out what’s wrong. Maybe he doesn’t want to tell you, you know. If he’s home sick, and wants to leave.”

Oliver sighed. He felt a little taken aback at the thought of Elio not wanting to confide in him - but Sadie might be right. She might be able to help.

“You can try,” he said. Then he shrugged. “Maybe I’m worrying too much.”

“As Susan always says,” Sadie smiled, and grasped his arm lightly, squeezed. “You’ve got a kind heart, Mister Oliver,” she said, in her best impersonation of Susan’s voice and demeanour.

Oliver smiled, a little bashful.

“I don’t. Not at all. I think... I don’t know. There’s something about Elio. Something - different.”

Sadie nodded, her lips stretched into a little smile.

“That’s how I felt about Jake. When we first met,” she murmured softly, her eyes knowing.

Oliver looked up, held her gaze; but could not find any words to respond.

“It’s all right to like someone, Oliver. And I think, that boy - he needs love. He’s looking for it.” She placed her hand on Oliver’s shoulder, briefly. “Besides, you’ve been alone for a while, now. Maybe it’s time we change that.”

And with a smile, and a wink, Sadie walked away, leaving Oliver to finish his cigar, in the company of his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters in one day??? Whaaat?? Ha. I spoil you! 
> 
> Please can I have a comment in exchange ;) I love reading your thoughts Xx


	9. Sadie

Hearing knocks on the door had become such a common occurrence that, when he heard yet another one, Elio started wondering if he wasn’t just having a dejavu. He’d also started feeling younger than he actually was - like when he was just a boy, of eight or nine years old, when his housekeeper reprimanded him and he hid in his nursery, refusing to come out until dinner time.

He felt as if he’d gone back in time; except now, if he left that room, he wouldn’t find Mafalda, nor his mother or father.

Now, he would find a group of people he knew little of, who lived homeless and wandering. He’d find a world he was only now starting to see for what it was. He’d find a person who was making him feel some things, discover others, and doubt - himself, and his life so far.

Whoever it was on the other side on the door knocked again, and Elio was about to call back, tell Oliver that he didn’t need to wait, it was his room after all - when someone else came in.

Sadie.

“Hey, Elio,” the girl greeted, with a soft smile on her face.

Elio’s eyes went wide for a moment, out of surprise, but he tried to steel his expression back to neutral quickly enough that she wouldn’t notice.

“Hi,” he greeted back.

He was sitting down on the floor; back against the wall, his knees hugged to his chest. He was embarrassed.

Feeling like a silly child by himself was one thing; but proving it by letting a stranger see him, on his own and pouting, was entirely another.

But Sadie didn’t seem to linger too long on what she saw.

“I was wondering if you were busy,” she said, taking a couple of steps towards Elio, but stopping before she came too close. “I need to go and pick some herbs for Alcyd, thought you could come with me.”

Elio looked up at her. He certainly wasn’t expecting that. It’s not that Sadie wasn’t nice to him - she’d always been welcoming, and helpful. They just had never spent any time together. Elio didn’t think of them as friends.

“I don’t know if I am good company today,” he said, quietly. “I’m not feeling too well.”

“Oh,” Sadie nodded. “I understand. Oliver did mention, now that I recall.”

At hearing Oliver’s name, Elio’s ears perked up; and before he could stop himself he’d already spoken out loud.

“What did he say?”

Sadie smiled gently, and then sat down on the floor, pulling the fabric of her skirt to the side to curl her legs under herself.

“He was worried about you,” she said. “He thought you might be getting sick.”

Elio looked up once again. Sadie’s brown eyes were looking at him, but it didn’t seem like she was expecting a response.

Elio pressed on anyway. He wanted to know.

“Oh. He was?”

“First he thought you might have the flu, or a fever. But now, he thinks you are home sick. He thinks you want to leave.”

Elio’s eyes widened again, and this time, he didn’t bother to hide it.

“Me? No, I -“ he tried. “I mean, I don’t know. I miss my family, but - but I don’t want to leave.”

He’d spoken with urgency, and now, after the words were out, he wondered how he sounded. Would Sadie think he didn’t care for his family?

“I’m glad you don’t want to leave. We don’t want you to leave, either,” the girl said instead. “Especially Oliver.”

Why was she saying that? Elio was sure Oliver was probably sick of him by now. Yes, he’d asked Elio not to leave him just yet, when Elio had mentioned wanting a horse for himself; but that was just a joke.

Elio couldn’t cling onto that small detail and build a huge house of cards over it, as if it was real, as if it would bring him to something concrete. It was stupid.

“It’s funny, because,” Sadie continued, when Elio did not utter a word in response. “Since you’ve got here, Oliver has hardly left your side. He brings you food. He’s happy sharing his room with you. When he brought me to the gang - he was a gentleman, and my saviour, don’t get me wrong - but he dropped me off with Susan at the first available moment.” Elio looked up again, confused. It could have sounded like she might be accusing him of something, but when he found her eyes, they were serene, and she was smiling. “He was wonderful, don’t get me wrong. But, what I mean is - the way he’s with you, he’s never been with anyone else.”

Elio frowned, in confusion.

“But... I thought you... and Oliver...?”

“Me and Oliver what?” Sadie hesitated. And then, her eyes widened, and she bursts into laughter. “Oh god. You mean together? Us two? No. No! Not at all, darling.” She patted his knee, still smiling wide. “We are really good friends, but no. I’ve only fallen for one man, in my life. And it was my husband, Jake.”

Elio felt dizzy. So, was it all his imagination? Was it just in his mind?

“Sorry,” he babbled then. “I just thought...”

“I’ll tell you a little secret.” Sadie adjusted her skirt around her legs, leant further forward as if she was getting ready to whisper. “I want to become a bounty hunter. I want to chase after criminals, catch them, bring them to the sheriff and get paid for it. It’ll feel like taking revenge for my Jake. And Oliver has been teaching me.”

“Oh.”

Elio was thoroughly floored. Of course, he knew Sadie was brave. He knew she wanted to chase after their enemies just as much as all the men in the gang. But he was floored because - he hadn’t figured it out. What Oliver was doing, what their relationship might be.

He’d just thought they were so similar, whereas he and Oliver were so different.

He looked down, still frowning. And then looked up again, thinking back at what Sadie had just said.

“What happened to... Jake?” he asked, trying to be careful.

Sadie’s face didn’t change expression. It was steeled into a stoic look.

“We were attacked, a year back. Just having some supper in our own house, as you do, when the Mudbrood appear. They killed him. They killed him, looted everything, burned the house. I hid in the barn, and luckily they didn’t find me - they weren’t looking for me.” She paused for a moment, but then resumed her tale. “Oliver and the others were after the Mudbrood, and found them, and once they killed those fuckers they found me. Oliver brought me back.”

Elio’s eyes were wide as he listened. That sounded terrifying. He genuinely felt bad for her, didn’t know how she’d been able to survive such a horrible experience.

“I’m sorry to hear this.”

Sadie nodded, bit her lip as she thought.

“He was a good man, my Jake. We’d been married for three years. He done nothing to deserve that. Now you see why I want to get revenge on him.”

Elio smiled, very lightly, just the corners of his mouth pulled up.

“You also have to be very brave yourself, to get revenge. I don’t think I could do it.”

Sadie smiled back.

“Oh, I think you could. Love is such - such a motivation. You know? And you’re stronger than you think you are.”

Elio didn’t say anything. Didn’t know what to say. It seemed Sadie knew more about him than he did himself; it seemed like she was so sure, of what she was saying, that Elio was brave - he wanted to believe there was some truth in it.

The girl’s eyes changed expression then, and she spoke again.

“You like Oliver. Right?”

Elio held his breath, looked down.

“Everybody likes Oliver.”

Sadie smiled. 

“He likes you. More than you do.” She nodded. 

And Elio spoke before he could stop himself once again.

“How do you know?

“He told me. And I can tell. From the way he talks about you.” Sadie’s eyes were gleaming, the corners crinkling. “Now. Wanna come out with me, or not?”

Elio’s face felt on fire, the warmth spreading all the way up from his belly. But it felt good. It was a good feeling.

He smiled, too, and nodded.

“Let’s go.”


	10. Penny Dreadful

That morning, the weather was really inclement. It rained and rained; which was strange. It almost never happened.

Oliver had to rise early, still, and travel with three other members of the gang to a settlement one of them had discovered the day before - it was abandoned, but held a wealth of items they could take or resell for money. No one was there - whoever lived in those run-down cabins must have fled some time before - and Oliver sure thought that was for the best. Had any one been there, they would be probably all dead by now. Killed.

Oliver’s fellow gang members had morals which were way laxer than Oliver’s. He didn’t even want to think about what would have happened, had they run into Elio before he did, that day.

But he forced himself to forget that thought. No matter - Elio was safe back at camp, now.

Oliver watched one of the two men with him light a fire, in the middle of the clearing they’d stopped into to rest - and thought about Elio. Wondered what he was doing. If he was okay. But then, he started feeling the others’ questioning eyes on him - they’d noticed he wasn’t listening to their chatter - and was forced to focus back on the conversation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hours later, the rain hadn’t let up. It made the deer scatter into smaller herds, get lost in the mountains. It took Oliver and the others longer to hunt, but they needed to. Camp was in dire need of provisions.

It meant it was soon night fall, and they had to camp out again, to wait for the morning. It meant riding for half of the following day, in order to travel back to camp.

They returned just before sunset.

Oliver had been thinking of Elio still - the others back home knew a delay was almost a normal occurrence, knew they’d surely be back the next day, but Elio didn’t. Oliver hoped Susan reassured him.

When he dismounted, Elio was standing by Sadie’s tent, looking towards him. His eyes wide, as if he were scanning Oliver, scanning his whole body - making sure he was unhurt.

Oliver walked over to him before doing anything else, before talking to anyone else.

“Hey,” he said. He longed to touch him, but he couldn’t - he’d never done that. He didn’t have permission, so he kept his hands down by his sides.

Elio’s green eyes were looking up at him, his expression serious, thick eyebrows knitted together.

“We were kept back. Bad weather, the deer going into hiding,” Oliver offered, feeling he needed to explain so Elio would understand.

Elio cocked his head to the side, for a moment. And then, he bit the corner of his mouth.

“But you’re okay,” he said. Not really a question, more like a hopeful affirmation.

“I am. Yes.”

Still biting his lower lip, Elio nodded.

“I missed you.”

His voice was soft, but sure. And his words made Oliver feel a warmth in his heart.

He smiled at the boy, wide, all the tension forgotten, the exhaustion of two days wandering the mountains. Then, he reached into his satchel. Excited, like a child, himself. He’d been waiting for this moment.

“I got you this,” Oliver said, holding the Penny Dreadful in his hand, offering it to Elio. “It’s a story book. This one’s called ‘The Knight of the Woods’.”

Elio’s eyes went from Oliver, to the book in his hand, back to Oliver.

“For me?” he said, tentative.

Oliver nodded, smiling. And looked on, as the boy took the book from his hand, held it in his, stared at it. The pages were worn, some thinned out by use, but the cover was still clear and colourful, the drawing of a knight on his black steed still well defined.

Elio’s smile, then, made Oliver’s heart soar.

“This is - this is wonderful. Thank you so much,” Elio beamed. “I missed - I missed reading.”

“I know. Which is why I thought about you the moment I saw this. I know it’s used, I found it in an abandoned house, but - as soon as we’re able to go back into town I will buy you more. New ones.”

The way that Elio was looking at his gift - there was something more, not just the joy of having something to read, something to relieve the moments of boredom; something else. And the boy held the book to his chest, then looked up at Oliver, eyes happy, glinting.

“Sadie said the sunset is going to be beautiful today, after the rain. I was going to go see it from the hill. And wait for you,” Elio said.

“But now I’m back,” Oliver smiled. And Elio smiled too.

“Come and watch the sunset with me?”

He seemed suddenly shy, and Oliver just wanted to smile even more, tenderness warming his heart at the thought that Elio might be afraid he’d say no.

But Oliver didn’t even have to think twice. He couldn’t wait to spend some time alone with Elio, again.

“Let me just go and get rid of these dirty clothes. Be back in a moment.”

The boy gave him another little smile, and so Oliver went back into the house to get changed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I’ve always liked sunsets. I used to watch them from the balcony in my parents’ villa,” Elio said, and his voice sounded dreamy.

He was sitting on the grass, uncaring of the ground still wet from the rain, his eyes looking out into the orange-tinted horizon.

Next to him, Oliver blinked. He looked at Elio’s profile, then at the sky in front of them. The sun was sinking down slowly; it was a breathtaking spectacle. Elio’s words made him realise he’d never actually taken the time to enjoy sunsets, not properly, before. He was always otherwise occupied - the sunset either a warning to hurry up and get home if he was out on a mission, or a sign that the day was about to end, a reminder he needed to find food if he could and then go to bed.

“It’s quite beautiful,” Oliver said, softly.

He looked at Elio again. He didn’t know if it was the cooler night air coming in, or just the colours from the sky tinting everything around them - but Elio’s cheeks had a soft rosy hue to them, one that made Oliver’s chest squeeze.

The sky was beautiful - but so was Elio.

Oliver spoke again.

“You must miss home.”

“I do,” Elio nodded, minutely. “But I missed you too. Now that you were away.” He turned towards Oliver. His knees were still hugged to his chest, his cheeks still rose-tinted. The sun had almost completely disappeared, and now they were being bathed in soft darkness.

Elio held Oliver’s gaze.

“It’s funny. I’ve always slept in a room alone, but now - I couldn’t sleep, without you there.”

His voice was soft, but sure - and Oliver found himself quiet for a long moment.

“I’ve - I’ve gotten used to having you there, too. With me.”

His comment sounded awkward and stilted to his own ears and Oliver mentally kicked himself - but Elio just smiled gently; shy. He looked away, looked down at his feet, the boots stained with drops of mud from the soft ground. When he looked up again, his eyes were huge. A dark fern green, framed by black eyelashes. His full lips stretched into a gentle smile.

The boy’s hands were holding onto each other, a little nervously. And perhaps the cover of dusk gave him more courage, Oliver didn’t know what it was; but he reached out, took one of those hands gently in his own larger one - and brought it up to his mouth, kissed the knuckles, while looking into Elio’s eyes.

He didn’t let go, after. Held the hand in his, his fingers massaging Elio’s slowly. He watched as the boy bit his lower lip for a moment, but didn’t protest his touch, didn’t reject him.

And Oliver didn’t know what it was, that pull in his chest right then. Like the intensity of the moment kept the both of them chained to the spot, unable and unwilling to move.

Oliver’s voice left his mouth before he could persuade himself not to say anything.

“Can I kiss you?”

The words stayed suspended between them for a few seconds. A few seconds during which Oliver could hear his own heartbeat, so loud. Please, says yes, he found himself beg in his own mind, as he waited for the boy to react.

“I -“ Elio started. His voice just a whisper. “Yes, please. But I’ve never - I’ve never been kissed. Before.”

Oliver shook his head, gently.

“C’mere.”

His brain had stopped working at this point and he just reached out, lifted a hand to cup Elio’s cheek, carefully, guiding him to turn towards him, to offer his mouth for Oliver to kiss.

He didn’t care that Elio hadn’t been kissed before. In fact, he loved it; he loved the idea. He was going to be his first kiss. He would look after him so well. He’d do whatever was in his power to make it so good for him.

So he pressed his own lips to the boy’s, very gently. Kissed him, light and careful, once, twice - just on the lips. Pulled back to look at his face, make sure everything was okay.

“Close your eyes,” Oliver crooned, holding Elio’s cheek in his palm. “Open your mouth, just a little.”

Elio obeyed, almost immediately. And Oliver kissed him again - slowly, just on the lips; and then opened his own mouth, pushed his tongue in to meet Elio’s. The boy sucked in a breath at the contact. And Oliver was sure he’d heard a soft whimper come from Elio’s chest.

So he kept going. Licked Elio’s mouth, his tongue. His lips.

He was soft, and so warm. Tasted so good. Tasted wonderful, like the candy Oliver had sometimes, the boiled sweets that Susan hid in the safe to save them from the avid mouths around camp. Strawberry, a little bit of caramel.

A minute or so later, Oliver pushed further. Elio’s face still held in his hand, his thumb stroking his cheekbone calmingly - Oliver deepened the kiss, guided Elio into opening his mouth more. He wanted to kiss and touch him everywhere, inside.

God, just kissing this kid was making him hard. So hard.

He had to slow down, and end the kiss, before he became too eager. He kissed Elio’s lips once, twice, before he parted from him. And then looked at his face, smiled as the boy tried to slow down his breathing.

“So. How was that,” Oliver murmured, a smile splitting his mouth as wide as could be.

Elio smiled, too, though very shyly - and brought his hand up to hide his face into, did not respond. Oliver chuckled softly, overwhelmed with tenderness.

“God,” he said, a few moments later. “I wish I could look at you under a full light right now. I bet you look so beautiful. Blushing like that, your mouth nice and swollen.”

“Oliver,” Elio playfully protested, gave him a push to the shoulder in mock protest. He still wasn’t making eye contact, still self-conscious - but he was smiling, and Oliver grabbed his hand, held it in his, made him still again.

“You alright?” he asked, more serious now.

And Elio nodded.

“Yeah. More than alright.”

Oliver smiled, massaged the boy’s hand in his again.

“Good. Shall we go in, then? It’s getting cold. And Susan is probably going to start screaming if we don’t show up to supper.”

Elio smiled, nodded; and squeezed Oliver’s fingers back, before they both pulled themselves up to standing, and made their way back to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? ;)


	11. Like a vacation

“We kissed,” Elio told Sadie as soon as he could get her alone. She was checking on the horses for the night, and he told Oliver he’d help her - but really, he just really wanted to announce his news.

“Oh, Elio. Well done!” Sadie smiled, her eyes round and excited. “When was that? He’s been away for two days. You move fast, Mister,” she teased, winking at him.

“We went to watch the sunset. He asked if he could kiss me - I didn’t do anything.”

Elio was blushing again, and Sadie giggled. She patted her horse on the neck as she stepped away from it.

“I was just teasing, love. This is exciting! I’m so happy for you two. Let me know what happens tonight, then.”

Elio stopped on the spot, and cleared his throat. “What do you mean?”he asked, his voice hesitant.

Sadie turned back towards him.

“What do I mean about...oh! Oh. Elio, no, hey. I was joking. Damn, sorry, I’m not good at this teasing business.”

Elio resumed walking, matched his pace with hers. They were still on the edge of camp, and most people were already inside the house or their tents, but he whispered anyway.

“Do you think he’ll want to....? Tonight?”

Sadie looked at him, and then sighed, and stopped, making Elio stop walking too.

“I don’t know, I mean. I’m a woman. What do I know about what men think! But what I do know is that he won’t want to do anything you don’t want to.” She squeezed a hand around his arm. “He’s a gentleman like that. Don’t worry.”

Elio nodded. He knew she was right. But all the same, his heart beat a little faster, as they walked back to the house together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio undressed slowly, leaving his shirt on, but swapping his trousers for a pair of chord underpants he used to sleep in.

He was just about to lie down on his cot, when a soft knock came from the door.

“Can I come in?”

Oliver, ever the gentleman. Just like Sadie said. He always asked for permission to come into the room, especially if he knew Elio might not be decent at that moment.

Elio called back to him that yes, it was fine, and Oliver opened the door, closed it quietly behind himself. Smiled at Elio, as the boy curled up under his worn blanket.

“I didn’t tell you earlier, but-“ Oliver started, took off his leather jacket, “- we came across a small village on our way back, today. It isn’t far from here. And they have some places - a butcher, trapper, some folk selling books, newspapers, even games. Thought perhaps you - might want to see it?”

His face was open, eyes questioning, a light gleaming in them while he waited for Elio’s response.

“Oh.” Elio wasn’t expecting that. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Oliver nodded. “We could go together. I’d be happy to.”

Elio smiled. The excitement at the prospect of seeing something different than camp, looking at new books, checking out a new place, already warming the blood in his veins.

“I’d - I’d really love to.”

Oliver’s mouth distended into another smile. “Then, it’s agreed. We can go tomorrow.” He knelt down by Elio’s cot, pressed his hand over the back of Elio’s, lightly. “Just - I want to be sure nobody can see you. Or recognise you. We might have to - disguise you, a little.”

Elio chuckled briefly, looked up at Oliver through his eyelashes.

“Like... cut my hair?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Oliver nodded. Elio watched as Oliver slowly, very slowly, raised a hand towards Elio’s curls. Stroked one back from his forehead. Pushed another behind Elio’s ear.

It was just a moment, the way the gaze was held between them. The space of a breath; and then, Oliver leaned down, and they were kissing again.

Elio’s heart was beating furiously, so much so he almost felt light headed. He had a moment of terror, in which he wondered if he’d forgotten how to kiss already, if he’d gone back to how he was - what, a few hours ago? It felt like a lifetime - if Oliver could tell he couldn’t kiss, would stop wanting to kiss him.

But it was like his body had his own, separate memory. He remembered how to breathe, and open his mouth for Oliver to deepen the kiss. He remembered how to let Oliver lead, but follow actively. He remembered how much he’d liked it, that evening at sunset, how much he was liking it now.

He remembered he was on his bed, laying down, with Oliver’s bigger body leaning over him. Another moment, and Oliver could push him down, lay with him, undress him - and then what? Elio didn’t know, Elio had never thought of it, what if - what if...

“We should go to sleep.”

Oliver’s soft murmur stopped the spiralling of thoughts in Elio’s head. Elio blinked, coming back to reality; saw Oliver smiling serenely at him.

“It’ll be a long day, tomorrow. You must be fresh and rested.”

Elio smiled, lips closed, and took a deep breath. Oliver wasn’t pushing him. Oliver wasn’t asking anything of him, tonight.

Oliver just stroked his cheekbone with his thumb, and then went back to his own cot,laying down quietly.

Soon, he was asleep; and Elio tried to match his breathing to Oliver’s, letting sleep take over him, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The day after, when Elio woke up, he felt so excited he could hardly make himself eat anything.

Oliver insisted that he did. The village wasn’t too far, but it was still going to be a fairly long ride.

Elio felt like he was going on a vacation, like that time his father took the family to the beach in the summer.

It was a sunny day, he was going to see a new place; and he was going alone, with Oliver.

He could hardly wait.

Oliver gave him some new garments to change into - ‘I borrowed them from Kieran. He’ll want them back’, he said, with an amused chuckle - and then, once Elio was dressed, he took him out in the clearing, had him sit on a bench.

“We need to do this,” he explained. “Just for safety. Those Mudbrood scum are always around - I want to make it difficult for them to recognise you.”

Elio was not scared - and he felt surprised by that. His excitement made him forget the risks. And he was going to be with Oliver - he was going to be safe.

But he let Oliver cut his hair, if that meant peace of mind for the older man.

He watched his curls fall to the ground as Oliver used a knife to cut them from his temple, his nape, the crown of his head.

After a while, Elio closed his eyes. Allowed himself to just feel Oliver’s gentle fingers as they separated strands of his hair, pulled carefully so the blade could cut off the length. This was certainly a novel way for him to have a haircut; and he bit his lip, torn between the pleasure of feeling Oliver take care of him, and the worry, now, that he might not look good. That Oliver might not like him anymore.

“There. All done.”

Elio opened his eyes, blinked carefully. Oliver had stepped back, was putting his knife away.

Elio’s hands went into his hair, racked through the shorter ends.

“Oh, Mister Oliver. Just you look at him,” Susan’s voice came from nearby. She was holding a cup in her hand, her trusty cigarette in the other - looking at Elio, her gaze motherly. “If he doesn’t look darling like that.”

Elio blushed a little, turned towards Oliver to watch for his reaction - hoping Oliver agreed.

And the older man was smiling.

“Ready to go, then?” he said, fastening his gun belt around his waist.

Elio nodded; and followed him to the horse.


	12. Adventure

The ride was fairly long, as Oliver had said, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

Elio clung to Oliver’s back, his arms around the older man’s waist to hold himself steady, as Arthur cantered through a patch of woods and then alongside a countryside road which stretched for miles.

This was the second time Elio had ridden on the back of Oliver’s horse, but now it was much different than that day - he had been scared, hungry and exhausted then. Now, he could actually enjoy it. He was safe.

The village started appearing at the end of the road, and with it, houses dotted by the outskirts, people riding their own horses, people on foot. As Arthur slowed down to a trot, Elio could start to pin point the grocery store; the saloon. A little church just across that street.

Oliver stopped the horse, and dismounted, helping Elio down too.

“You okay?” he asked the boy.

Elio smiled, looked up at Oliver and nodded.

“Yeah. I’m fine. So where do we go?

Oliver laughed a little.

“Impatient, eh?” he said, amused. He hitched Arthur to a post by the store. “Do you want to go for a walk, first? Then we can pick up what we need and load it onto Arthur.”

Elio nodded, and looked around himself, excited.

He’d been to villages before, to towns. Once, when he was younger, even to Hanover, the really large city south-east of the river. He’d gone there with his parents to see the circus - and he still remembered that in vivid details to this day.

So now, it wasn’t so much the novelty of a town he’d never seen - they did resemble each other, after all; there was that, of course, but even more it was the excitement of being able to share this with Oliver, being alone with him. Having his complete attention.

It felt like they were courting, and Elio blushed to himself, then stretched his lips in what he hoped was a confident smile - even though his heart was racing.

“I’m a little hungry. Can we get something to eat?” he said.

Oliver smiled, in return, and placed a gentle hand on the small of his back.

“Of course. I saw a nice stall, yesterday, a few yards away. Sells roast and mash. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful,” Elio beamed, and let Oliver lead him there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I wish I had some money with me,” Elio mused later, after they’d had their food - generous helpings of roast mutton with mash that was still steaming hot. They’d eaten sitting on a nearby bench, washed it down with ale for Oliver, and lemon cordial for Elio.

Now they were strolling again, side by side, down the village’s main road - and Oliver turned towards him.

“Your money? What for?

“So then I could buy the food. And not make you spend your money. I could even buy it for the both of us.”

Elio looked down, at his feet.

“I’m happy to buy you dinner. And whatever you need. It’s not a burden,” Oliver said, no hesitation in his voice.

Elio nodded, but didn’t look up.

“I know. But I wish I could repay you, for - for everything.”

He fell silent. Oliver did not respond, either; until he did.

“I have something to show you,” he said, and he had a glint in his eye - started walking towards a side alley, a tiny one at that. Nodded with his head for Elio to follow.

And when the boy did, he found himself pushed against the brick wall, gently enough, but with Oliver’s hands holding his face firmly enough that he felt a shiver down his spine. He looked up, and Oliver was smiling, looking at his mouth - before he leaned down, and kissed it.

“You are so precious,” Oliver murmured when they parted. His eyes still looking into Elio’s. And the boy could not help but stare back, mesmerised - his heart beating fast again at what had just happened, at Oliver’s unexpected display of affection for him.

Elio raised a hand, placed it gently over Oliver’s on his own cheek. Looked up, still in his eyes, unable to look away.

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that, but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

Oliver kissed his lips once more, briefly - and then wrapped his arm around the boy’s back, nudging him away from the wall.

“Come on. Let’s go. I believe we have a lot of shopping to do.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

They went to the general store, a couple of streets away. It sold a variety of items, and Elio looked around while Oliver bought the necessities he’d run out of - gun oil, horse medicine, rope for the camp tents, bait for fishing.

“If there’s any book you want, you can get it,” Oliver said, when he saw Elio feeling the back of a book with his fingers, wistfully. There wasn’t a vast choice - the store only had two or three titles. Adventure stories, and one of romance.

Elio bit his lip.

“No. They cost too much.”

“Nonsense.” Oliver walked to the counter, placed a stack of notes in front of the store clerk. “We’ll get these, and however many different books you have.”

Elio looked on, as the clerk rang the register with a bored-sounding ‘alright’ - and didn’t even have the time to complain,try and stop Oliver because he was spending too much.

“Come on. I’ll wait for you outside,” Oliver said, smiling, and gave him a wink.

So Elio could not do anything but smile back, blush, and cradle his prized new books against his chest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Will you stay here with Arthur for a minute?” Oliver asked a few hours later, when it was almost time to leave. The shops were closing up for the day; it was going to be sundown in a couple of hours.

“Where are you going?” Elio asked, his fingers tangled in the horse’s mane, as he stood next to the animal. They’d just loaded their last purchases onto the saddle - cuts of cloth and fabric that Susan had requested for sewing.

“Just - over there. To the gunsmith.” Oliver smiled tightly. “I’ll be right back.”

Elio watched him walk towards the shop. Arthur just waited calmly; and so Elio patted his neck with his palm, gentle. Stroked a hand on the horse’s forehead, down his muzzle, chuckling when Arthur tried to push his nose against Elio’s shoulder.

“Oh look. Are you new over here?” A voice asked then.

Elio turned around, not letting go of Arthur’s mane, although the horse gave a nervous neigh - never a good sign.

Two men stood a few feet away, leaning back against a railing. Elio looked up - above the door behind them, the sign read ‘saloon’.

They were drunk, and it was evident.

“Come on, partner,” the other one slurred. “Don’t you scare him now.”

Elio frowned, then turned back around. Focussed his attention on Arthur. He was going to pretend they didn’t exist. Their greasy beards and sweaty, wrinkly faces were making him feel really uneasy, and Elio felt like he could smell the rum on their breaths from where he was.

“Not talking to us then, boy?” the first stranger started again. “Never seen you around here. Not very wise to come all alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Elio snapped, regretting it a moment later. He’d sworn to himself he was just going to ignore them.

“Oh, you’re not?” One of the two men pushed up from the railing. Took a step towards him, a creepy grin on his face. “And who are you with? Your mommy and daddy?”

“He’s with me.” Oliver’s voice broke through, just when Elio was about to panic, his heart beating like a drum in his chest. The boy turned around, scared eyes searching for Oliver’s.

“Don’t you gentlemen have better things to do than harass innocent strangers?”

“My friend, we wasn’t harassing anyone here,” one of the two drunk men said. He was grinning, and with two teeth missing it looked even creepier. “But the boy here was all alone - he needed company.”

Oliver took a step towards them. With his height, and his stance, he could make himself look menacing, and he was doing exactly that right now.

His next words were a growl.

“No, he didn’t.”

“Ohhhhh,” the other man howled. He wobbled on his feet. “He’s yours then?”

“Yes. He’s mine.”

At first, Elio thought he’d heard wrong.

But then, as he watched the two obnoxious strangers walk away, back into the salon, defeated, he bit his lower lip, hearing the words echo in his ears.

“Are you okay?” Oliver was asking, and his tone was worried, his eyebrows knit into a frown.

Elio forced himself to focus, and answer the question.

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. They didn’t touch me.”

“They wouldn’t be still alive, had they done that,” Oliver said, voice firm. He meant it, and there was no doubt about it.

Elio swallowed.

Oliver reached out, stroked a rebellious wisp of a curl quickly behind Elio’s ear, still frowning, looking serious.

And then spoke again.

“Come on. Let’s go back home. It’s getting late.”

And Elio nodded, let Oliver help him on the horse - and once Oliver had mounted too, Arthur started cantering towards home.


	13. The night after

“So. How’s the book?” Oliver asked, crouching down next to Elio, as the boy sat on a log near the fire, reading. Everybody else was having supper, and conversing - enjoying the quiet before the night.

“It’s really good,” Elio replied. He looked up from the pages, gave Oliver a smile.

And Oliver just then realised he might be intruding into a sort of private time for Elio.

“Sorry, I’ll - I’ll leave you to read,” he corrected quickly. He made to get up, but Elio shook his head straight away.

“No, no. It’s fine. Please, stay.”

Oliver looked into the boy’s eyes, as he gazed up at him. Elio’s green irises were clear, and trusting - and so Oliver nodded.

“Listen, I - I’m sorry if those scumbags ruined the trip for you,” he said, sitting back down. He cleared his throat, and watched Elio’s profile carefully, waiting for his response.

Elio looked up.

“Oh. Oh, no, no. They didn’t, not at all.” His lips stretched into a small smile; his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s - it’s happened before. Not the first time, so I - I don’t care. You were there. It was fine.”

Oliver frowned, set his jaw. Seeing those drunkards harass Elio like that, thinking of what they could have done, had Oliver not been around - it enraged him. He didn’t want to think about Elio, an even younger Elio, going through a similar thing, and alone; but that was in the past. There was nothing he could do about what had been; but he did swear that Elio was always going to have his protection, from now, for as long as he would accept it.

“You’re a brave little thing,” Oliver said. Looking straight into Elio’s eyes.

And Elio looked down, shook his head minutely, but then his eyes went back up to Oliver and he held his gaze, a pinch in his cheeks as he smiled softly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A couple of hours later, Oliver knocked on the door to his room.

“Come in,” Elio called back from inside. And Oliver, carefully, opened the door, closed it behind himself.

Elio was curled up in his cot, fox fur over his body. His book resting just next to him.

“Can you read, with so little light?” Oliver asked, tenderness mixed with amusement, as he undressed for the night.

“There was enough light when the moon was out,” Elio replied. Then he pouted, pushed his book aside next to his pillow - and it made Oliver chuckle.

“Getting mad at the moon, are we?” he teased, looking at Elio from the corner of his eyes while he leaned down to unlatch his boots.

“Shut up,” Elio bit back. His tone was playful, and when Oliver looked up again, he was smiling. Oliver imagined that, had there been more light for real, he would have seen the boy’s cheeks blushing - and he found himself silently cursing the moon, too.

“Can I ask you something?” Elio’s voice broke through his reverie, as he pulled up to sitting; Oliver nodded, looking down at the boy.

“Today, when you went to the gunsmith. Why didn’t you want me to come with you?”

“It’s not that I didn’t want you to come with me,” Oliver said. Cleared his throat. “I just thought - I was going to be a minute. I thought it’d be easier for you to wait outside.”

There was a moment of silence, in which Elio’s eyes, black, and wide, in the darkness of the room, stared up at Oliver, with an intensity which the older man wasn’t expecting; and then the boy bit the corner of his lip, and spoke again.

“I know you have to buy bullets. I know you use guns. You don’t have to protect me from that - I know that it’s - for defense, too.”

Oliver stood, for a few moments, considering his words. Elio was just looking at him, waiting.

And so Oliver smiled. Knelt down next to the boy, his long legs folded under so that he could be at eye level with him.

“You’re too clever for your own good,” he murmured gently, smiling, a hand reaching out to smooth Elio’s temple with a thumb.

Elio let him, and a moment later, Oliver didn’t know how, they were kissing again.

He hadn’t planned it, but he was lying if he told himself he hadn’t hoped to be allowed to kiss Elio again.

And now that he was, now that he could taste those full, soft lips again, now that he could hear Elio’s slow breaths - and a soft moan, when Oliver pushed deeper into the kiss - now he couldn’t remember how it started, he could only remember he wanted it.

He wanted more.

It was just a nudge, but Elio seemed to get the message and lay down on his back, letting Oliver hover over him, on his knees and caging Elio’s head with his arms.

Oliver moaned softly in his throat, himself, at the warmth radiating from Elio’s thin body - at the softness of his mouth and the submissive way he let Oliver deepen the kiss even further, lick his tongue, bite gently into his lower lip.

It had been a long time since Oliver had lain with anyone. And now, he really, really wanted Elio. His brain could only follow one path, it seemed, like his horse when he followed the road to home; and so he kissed Elio’s mouth again, then his chin; then his throat and the side of his neck, and let his hand stroke up Elio’s side, over his flank and under his night shirt, until he reached a firm, small pec, his shoulder, and then back down, to the outline of sharp ribs.

He kissed back up as he stroked him, his kisses finding Elio’s cheek again, the corner of his mouth; his full lips.

And it was then that he saw: Elio, his eyes shut, chest pumping air fast with the quickened rhythm of his breaths. He could feel the boy’s heart racing.

“Elio? What’s wrong?” Oliver asked, pulling back a little to better see Elio’s face.

Elio opened his eyes, eyebrows knitted in worry. And he bit his lip again, his lower lip this time, already swollen with kisses and now even more so because of his teeth pushing into it.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” the boy said, a little frantic.

“What are you sorry for?” Oliver asked, frowning himself. He pulled back a little, letting Elio breathe.

“I just am. I’m sorry, I - you did so much for me, today especially. And I can’t - I can’t even...”

Oliver pulled back more, frowning just like Elio was.

“Elio, you don’t... you don’t have to do anything. To repay me. You know this, right?”

Elio’s eyes were still black and gleaming - but even wider, now, as he looked up at Oliver.

“I know, I just thought... I thought maybe I could do this.”

Oliver pursed his lips. Took a deep breath, still looking into the boy’s eyes. And then sat back, next to Elio’s cot, but with a good distance between them, so that they could talk. 

“You don’t have to do anything,” he repeated, softening his voice. “You don’t owe me anything. Not in general, and not in - the physical sense, either.”

Elio was still looking at him with wide eyes - and so Oliver had to check again.

“Do you understand this, right?”

Elio, finally, nodded. Looked down.

“When we kissed, before,” Oliver just had to ask. “You wanted to, right? Or did you think you had to?”

“No, no,” Elio replied instantly. “No. I wanted to. I wanted to, Oliver.”

He seemed so eager for Oliver to believe him, his eyes so wide, almost begging. And Oliver knew he was telling the truth.

“I just,” Elio started again, and lowered his gaze. Played with a strand sticking out lonely from his blanket, absentmindedly with his fingers. When he spoke, his voice was almost hard to hear. “I’ve just - never done. Any of that. Never laid with anyone, never - spent the night. With anyone.”

Oliver took a breath. He had expected that - and yet, Elio confessing, so candidly, was a surprise. But even so, Oliver was glad it had happened - that Elio told him; he would have never forgiven himself if he just took what Elio thought he should give, without making sure the boy actually wanted it, was ready for it.

“It’s alright,” Oliver reassured. He reached out, stroked a curl back from Elio’s forehead. He’d left his fringe a little longer than the rest of his hair. “It’s alright.”

“I do want to, though,” Elio said, and his voice was even quieter now.

Oliver would have missed it, had he not heard it so clearly.

And so Oliver smiled, gently. And then nodded - his hand now flown down to stroke Elio’s own on the wooden floor of their room.

“We should go to sleep, now. And think about it, for next time. Maybe,” he murmured.

Elio nodded, also. And Oliver felt the boy’s eyes on himself, as he went back to his own cot, lay down; and gazed back at Elio from his spot a few feet away.


	14. I’ll be okay

Oliver had gone out hunting really early, that morning, with four other men from the gang.

Elio only vaguely remembered the older man telling him he was leaving, that he’d be back before nightfall, remembered the feel of Oliver’s hand stroking a lock of hair back from his forehead.

He didn’t sleep much longer after that.

With his eyes still half-closed, he dragged himself downstairs, and out the door. The sun was rising; the remaining members of the gang were still in their rooms or in their tents.

Except for Sadie.

Elio was relieved to see her, and he walked over, rubbing sleep out of one eye with a hand, the other holding his piece of fur close to his body against the chill of the morning.

“Good morning, Mister!” Sadie greeted playfully, turning towards him with a smile.

She was dressed already, and was sitting on a log, a leather bag on her lap, intent on sewing the bottom edges together.

“How come you’re already up?” Elio asked, squinting at Sadie’s hands, quick in their work.

“I got up to help the men with their ammo, and guns. God knows these guys would forget all of their equipment given half a chance,” Sadie said. “But actually, Oliver thinks it’s good for me to assist when they’re going hunting. To learn what’s needed. Soon, I can go with them, too.”

Elio scratched his head, his sleepy eyes looking up from Sadie’s hands into her eyes.

“You’re going hunting?”

“Yeah,” the woman nodded, and smiled. A glint in her eye. “Maybe next time, when they go for a big trip like today. ‘Tis why I’m fixing this satchel - so it’s all ready.”

Elio nodded. He stood, watching her as she worked on the bag, for a few more moments. But then his thoughts drifted - to Oliver. To what happened between them. To this hunting trip, to the fact that he wouldn’t see him all day.

“How is it going, between you two?” Sadie asked, as if she’d read his mind, raising her face and looking at him sideways, squinting, smiling.

Elio bit his lip.

“Good. Good. We - kissed some more,” he said, felt himself blush.

Sadie smiled.

Elio wanted to say more; wanted to tell her about him stopping Oliver, about his fear of going all the way, of having sex with him, that mixture of desire and trepidation that he’d felt. But he just couldn’t find the words. He felt like perhaps this was something he wasn’t supposed to stress over; something nobody thought about with a worried mind. It was just what it was.

Sadie was so brave, wanting to train like the men, wanting to go after wild beasts and criminals; and here he was, scared of something other people didn’t think was a big deal.

“You know, I married very young,” Sadie said then. She looked down, at her hands still working on the satchel, as she spoke. “I was around your age. Maybe a little older, but not by much. I’d never been - with a man, never even saw one naked. I was scared shitless on my wedding night.”

Elio looked up then; Sadie continued.

“And you know what my Jake said? He said, don’t you worry my love. It doesn’t have to be tonight.” She’d made her voice a little deeper, an imitation of what Jake’s voice must still sound like in her head - and she was smiling while she did so, her expression lost in memories. “That’s how you know that a man cares about you, Elio. When to your man you’re more than what he can take from you, you’re your feelings and your dreams and your wants, and not just your body.”

Her hands still moved, quick, on the leather - Sadie hadn’t taken her eyes off it.

And Elio couldn’t take his eyes off her moving hands, either, as he listened to her, her words resounding in his mind and in his chest. Once again, he didn’t even have to speak for her to understand.

“Can I help you with anything?” Elio said then, blinking his thoughts away, although now he was smiling.

Sadie beamed back.

“Why don’t you go and get yourself some breakfast? Then you can help me with these stirrups - they’re a mess after all the rain we’ve had.”

“Okay,” Elio whispered, and skipped over to where the stew was being kept warm in its pot, ready to have some food, and start his day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio kept himself busy around camp, collected wood and berries nearby, helped to feed the horses, and used his downtime to read another one of his new books.

He kept thinking of Oliver. He kept wondering how many hours were left until sundown - he hoped Oliver and the others would return earlier than he’d said.

And when they finally did - when the gang member keeping guard signalled the return of the expedition, Elio ran to the edge of camp to watch them arrive - and then, his heart nearly stopped.

Oliver was on his horse, but his chest and arm were bloodied, the shirt sleeve ripped in multiple spots. He held the reins with just one hand, the other arm clutched against his chest.

Elio’s head spun with terror.

“What the hell happened to you?” Susan said urgently, approaching the group, as two other gang members helped Oliver down from his horse.

“A wolf attacked us. Well, me. As we camped out to skin the deer,” Oliver said, grimaced. Elio watched him, frowning.

“Yeah. Little fucker smelled the blood,” Oliver’s colleague said.

Susan nodded. “Come on, come on. Mister Oliver, come inside. Let’s clean that nasty wound.”

And Elio followed them, couldn’t stop staring in terror at the blood all over Oliver’s chest and arm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I’ll be okay. You know?”

Elio didn’t look up at Oliver’s words. He was focussed on fastening the bandage around the older man’s arm, as Susan had shown him to do. He was trying to be careful, delicate enough not to hurt him, but firm enough that the dressing would stay in place. The wound wasn’t as large as it had seemed at first - but it was still deep and needing tending to.

“But it could have been much worse,” Elio murmured. Didn’t look up. “And I didn’t even say goodbye to you, this morning.”

He didn’t know what he was thinking. It sounded morbid, even to his ears, and yet, so real.

What if. What if Oliver has died, what if they had been attacked by a bear, instead of a wolf, or by another gang, unaware, what if, what if. He shuddered, set his jaw to stop his eyes from getting wet already.

“Hey,” Oliver murmured. Reached out with his undamaged hand to gently lift Elio’s chin up. “It was fine. It’s a minor incident. Just an angry wolf. It’s happened to me before. It’s happened to - everyone, before.”

Elio looked down again, back up into Oliver’s eyes.

Of course he knew that this was something that could happen; he just never stopped to think it could happen to Oliver.

Didn’t want to think about anything else happening to Oliver.

Today could have been the last day he’d seen him.

“Stop thinking,” Oliver smiled, held Elio’s chin into his fingers, gave it a little squeeze. “I’d like to have some dinner. Come with me?”

And Elio nodded. He did not intend to leave Oliver’s side, for the whole night, that was sure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And later, when they retired for the night, Elio did not want to be away from Oliver even as they slept.

He was usually not that bold, he usually waited for Oliver to come kiss him, to stroke his hair or wish him goodnight; but tonight, he undressed, and went to lie next to the older man, on his cot, nestling under the cover and against Oliver’s chest.

Oliver chuckled a little, but he wrapped his good arm around Elio, kissed his head. “Hi,” he murmured against Elio’s hair.

Elio really didn’t know what was happening to him. He felt a warmth in his chest, and urgency in his limbs. He wanted contact, he wanted Oliver’s touch, his kisses. And so he reached up, guided his face with a hand until he could join their mouths.

Oliver kissed back instantly, a quiet moan of surprise leaving his throat as Elio opened his mouth, welcomed his tongue, touched it with his.

Oliver’s hand slid down to Elio’s throat, fingers wrapping gently around it as they kept kissing, hungry. And the older man only slowed the kiss a few long minutes later. Nuzzled his nose into Elio’s, opened his eyes to look at him.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asked, gently, a smile in his question as he looked into the boy’s hooded eyes.

And Elio did not hesitate to respond.

“You scared me today.” He swallowed. “Don’t you do it again.”

His eyes were hard, and looking right into Oliver’s even in the darkness of the room, and Oliver sighed. Stroked his fingers over Elio’s throat.

“I never meant to scare you.”

His voice was low, warm. Elio knew, deep down, that that was the only response Oliver could give him. Any reassurance, as nice as it might have been to receive, was going to be far-fetched.

And Elio’s heart squeezed at the thought.

“I’ve decided - I want to give myself to you. When you’re better. If you - if you still want me.”

Elio didn’t know how he’d managed to say the words. His heart was beating a hundred miles a minute, his mind was in turmoil. He’d vocalised his decision, and he’d wanted to - but it still felt terrifying now that he’d said out loud.

“Elio, I... of course I want you,” Oliver replied, his voice almost shocked. Disbelieving. “Are you sure, though? You don’t have to-“

“When you’re better,” Elio interrupted him, made his voice sound firm. Looked right into his eyes - until Oliver’s face relaxed into a small smile. And he nodded.

“Okay. Okay. When I’m better.”

And Elio looked into his eyes a few moments longer, then took a breath; and leaned his head against him, his forehead pushed against Oliver’s lips, closed his eyes, and vowed to be Oliver’s guardian angel for the whole night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m still sick... but I managed to write another chapter!! 
> 
> Don’t forget to leave me a comment - it make me happy x


	15. Home, away from home

“Do you think,” Elio said, one morning, as he and Oliver had their coffee by the fire. “Do you think I could send a letter to my parents?”

Oliver put down his cup, and looked up at the boy. He had to admit that, amidst everything that was happening, he’d almost forgotten about Elio’s family, about him being away from them with no contact. And he didn’t feel good about it.

“The closest Post office is in Green Plains,” he replied, feeling even worse for having to say this. “And we can’t really go there, not right now. We’re wanted.”

Elio bit his lower lip. “Oh.”

His face was so disappointed, though he was trying to cover it, that Oliver couldn’t stand it.

“If you give me the letter, I could run it to the post office there really quickly.”

“No, no. I don’t want you to be in danger.”

Elio shook his head. “It’s fine. It can wait.”

Oliver looked at the boy.

“Are you sure? Your parents must be so worried.”

He watched Elio’s face carefully, trying to read his expression. He was looking down, now, eyebrows knitted, as if he was remembering something he found hard to forget.

“They think I’ve run away. They don’t know that they- they took me. And it’s better that way. Better that they think I got - mauled by a wild animal, or something. Than for them to know the truth.”

Oliver took a breath, swallowed. Elio’s voice sounded so sad - so reproachful. And Oliver couldn’t really reconcile this kid - this mature, responsible young man who’d found himself in a totally new reality and had adapted so quickly and so well - with the child who’d run away from his housekeeper after a fight.He just couldn’t - it was such a difference.

Oliver nodded, and reached out, touched Elio’s hand, his fingers that flexed tensely on top of the log they were sitting on.

“Write the letter anyway,” he said. Voice quiet. “Just tell them you’re okay. Don’t tell them where you are, or with who, but - tell them you’re okay, and that you’ll be back. As soon as we can get to a post office, we’ll mail it to them.”

Elio turned around, wide eyes searching Oliver’s as if to ascertain that he was being serious. And then, he nodded minutely, smiled a little - and touched Oliver’s hand that was covering his own with his thumb, returning the caress.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver’s arm was slowly healing.

The wound that crossed his bicep was deep, but was fixing itself up nicely, with the help of Elio who made sure to clean it and redress it every day.

Oliver felt like he could move it with more ease already, felt like he could start to use it again to hold onto reins, to work on pelts and to carry weapons.

What he needed now was a little luck - just some time to recover, some time for him to return to full form.

But they weren’t that lucky.

“The Mudbrood are coming our way,” Hosea announced, in one breath, running down from his horse and towards the others from the gang. “We saw them when we was coming back from hunting.”

“We need to go,” Albert said, walking over alongside him. “Susan, get the women ready. Oliver - you and Hosea come with me.”

He was giving orders, but his voice was clear and controlled, as always. Oliver stood, put out the cigar he was smoking - and turned towards Elio, who was looking at him, eyes wide.

“Go with Susan,” he said.

Elio set his jaw.

“What? No. I want to go with you!”

“Elio. I can’t argue right now. Go with her. I want you in the carriage. I’ll be right behind you.”

“But you’re injured!” Elio cried, his eyes even wider, scared.

“I’ll be okay,” Oliver said. His face softened, and he looked down, at Elio’s eyes, his trembling lip. “I’ll be okay if I know you’re safe.”

When he looked back up, Susan was standing a few feet from them; she was frowning, like she did when she was worried, although she’d already sprung into action as always.

She touched Elio’s shoulder carefully.

“Come on, doll. We need to go.”

Oliver gave Elio another look, and then forced himself to turn his back to him, walk over to Arthur and grab his carabine, following Albert while the whole camp rushed to pack and leave.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He stayed behind together with three of the other men to protect the rest of the gang, as they escaped through the woods and towards the furthest edge of the state.

On the other side was where Oliver had spent many years of his life when he was younger, and so he was familiar with it; knew a good place that was far enough, but reachable by horse before the end of the day. It wasn’t the manor they were used to, the house they’d called a home for two months - longer than they’d been anywhere recently. But at least it was hidden, it was safe enough. They would have to live in tents for a while - but at least they would not be in danger.

Oliver checked their surroundings with Albert. Looking carefully for any signs of peril, for any indication that their arrival was going to be noticed, reported, either to the sheriff or worse, to the Mudbroods.

When they finally rode back to camp, their new camp, the others had just finished building the tents. So many of their possessions had to be left behind; a lot, however, had come with them. There were always items that gang members were attached to, for one reason or the other, and those held priority over more essential things, sometimes. Life on the run followed its own rules.

But the only thing Oliver really cared about, the only thing he wanted to see unharmed, was Elio.

And so, he went looking for him.

Oliver fully expected to find him scared, upset. Instead, once he saw him near the middle of camp, he was helping Susan with setting up the fire for supper - and he looked up as soon as he saw Oliver, stood, to look into his face.

“You’re okay,” Elio murmured. Breathed, as if he could finally let go after holding his breath.

Oliver smiled.

“I told you I would be.”

Elio nodded. His face was still tense, his eyebrows knitted.

“Did you have to shoot anyone?”

“No,” Oliver said, sincerely. “No. There was no one around, luckily.”

Elio nodded. His lips were red, darker than usual. His face was pale, and even more so in the light of dusk, against the jet black of his hair. He looked like he was steeling himself,breathing against the scare he’d had.

Oliver felt proud of him.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Oliver heard himself say. What a bizarre thing, since they’d only saw each other that morning, since he’d sent Elio away with Susan just to set camp in a different place, with the knowledge he’d see him only a few hours later.

But still, that was what he was feeling.

And Elio smiled at that. His eyes were still downturned, like they got when he was thinking about something, nervous about something - uncertain about something. But he was smiling.

And a few moments later, he closed the few steps in between them, raised himself on tiptoes, and kissed Oliver.

His hands in Oliver’s hair, arms around his neck, his whole body flush against Oliver’s. Kissing him, right in the middle of camp, in front of everyone.

And Oliver kissed back. His arms winding tightly around the boy’s rib cage, holding him against himself - deepening the kiss, and forgetting about everything, and every oneelse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little more patience.... :) 
> 
>  
> 
> Send me comments, please! X


	16. Mistress

Elio spent the rest of the day divided between wanting to stay by Oliver’s side, and trying to help out at camp with anything that still needed setting up, preparing, fixing.

The night was coming quickly, and it was going to be colder now that they were further North. Elio had never experienced so much travelling in his life; he’d always stayed in one place with his family - but he couldn’t say he disliked it. As long as they were all together - as long as everyone was accounted for - he would not be scared.

The kiss with Oliver, right there in the middle of their new camp, was buzzing in his mind still. The adrenaline from it was still strong in his veins, and that’s why, perhaps, he found himself talking to Susan a little later, asking a question he would have never had the courage to ask otherwise.

“Did you - did people mind that Oliver and I - kissed?”

He blushed as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He didn’t know why he was asking. What was he hoping to achieve, if not attracting even more attention on the fact?

But his curiosity was overwhelming. No one had reacted in any particular way when they’d seen them. If they’d seen them; it’s not like Elio was checking. He had his eyes closed, he was lost in the moment, in the feeling of Oliver’s arms around him, in his smell and in his taste.

But still. What did the others think? Was it frowned upon, that kind of thing, within the gang? Elio knew it was considered wrong in society. His parents were very open, very artistic. They had friends coming over to their house all the time, friends from all over the country, even from abroad; people that were all different from each other, with different experiences, different lives. Different relationships.

But still, no one did that sort of thing in the open.

Susan looked at him from the corner of her eye. Then walked over to a tree trunk, their replacement for a bench to sit on, and sat down, pulled a cigarette from the bag she always carried around her neck.

“Sweetheart. These people are a gang of outlaws. They don’t follow rules, now, do they? And when someone is as honourable as our dear Oliver is, well, they’re not gonna be difficult with him as to his private matters.” She paused, lit the cigarette. “I reckon, my dear, to each his own. You two - we all knew it already. You’re joined at the hip. And, you know,” she took a drag of the cigarette, her eyes heavy on Elio - and he felt his face flush, warm. “You know, it’s a bit of a tradition. When one of them rescues someone, there’s always that sort of connection. It’s like Albert and me. And it’s good, you know? Because Oliver needs that. He used to be so high strung, so anxious, that boy. But now he’s got you, and you can help that, can’t you? He can spend time with you, get all that energy out of his system. And be even better for us.”

She was observing him, her deep, grey eyes fixed on him as she spoke - so insistent, that Elio had to lower his gaze.

There was so much to take out of what Susan so candidly said. Elio felt himself blush even more, felt his cheeks on fire, at the thought of Susan inferring that they were having sex, that Oliver would take out his primal instincts on him.

He bit his lip, realising that he liked that thought more than he should have. He liked to think of Oliver wanting him; he liked to think of them joining their bodies, of them coupling - and he liked to think that, because of him, Oliver would be better for the gang.

He wanted to belong to Oliver. He wanted to fully commit to this life by his side.

He didn’t want to go back.

Susan just smiled then, in the way she had that reminded Elio, sometimes, of his own mother, even though Susan wore more make up, more lipstick, more jewellery.

She stood; and reached out a hand, grasped Elio’s chin with her strong, slightly rough fingers, firmly.

“My lamb, Oliver is crazy about you.”

And then she let him go, and walked away - leaving Elio to ponder her words.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio walked into the tent that had been assigned to Oliver a few hours later.

No one had mentioned separate sleeping arrangements for him. And so Elio just assumed that, as Oliver’s mistress, now officially so, the others just accepted he would share the cot with the older man.

Oliver was sitting down, cleaning his boots, as he entered, a candle providing a faint light - and he looked up, smiled at Elio.

“What do you think of our new room?” he joked. He lifted a hand, offering it to Elio to take, nudging him down to sit next to him.

Elio did, and lifted his eyebrows a bit.

“Okay, definitely not the same as a room in a manor, as derelict as that one was. But at least there’s no spiders, so far?”

Elio chuckled softly. And Oliver reached over; kissed him on the lips.

The kiss went on for a while. Elio pushed up against Oliver, opened his mouth - tasted him, again, let his smell and his flavour fill his nose and his tongue.

Oliver’s hands were rough, a cowboy’s hands; but they were gentle when they grasped Elio by the shoulders, pushed him down to lie back on the thin layer of grass and blanket that made up their makeshift bed.

Oliver knelt between Elio’s legs, still kissing him; and Elio moaned, softly - his heart beating like crazy inside his chest.

“You okay?” Oliver whispered on his lips.

Elio looked up, into Oliver’s eyes; hypnotised by the blue depths. He nodded.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful. I should have told you a thousand times before,” Oliver said, his voice a low growl, as his hand cupped Elio’s cheek, his thumb stroked the unmarred, smooth skin slowly.

Elio smiled. He let Oliver nestle in between his legs, and gasped when their clothed groins finally made contact.

“Are we going to christen our new home, then?” Oliver said, playful and serious at the same time.

Elio could feel how hard he was, the warmth pushing against Elio’s tummy - making him want to roll back his eyes, let Oliver do whatever he wanted to him.

But instead, he spoke, in a whisper.

“Put out the candle?”

It made Oliver chuckle; his laughter a low rumble.

He reached out and made quick work of the flame, and once that was gone, they were plunged in darkness.

Oliver kissed him again - hungry, demanding; his right hand grasping Elio’s hip, long fingers circling half of his waist, pulling him back and further under him. And he pushed his pelvis against Elio’s again, hard, so hard, that Elio cried out in Oliver’s mouth.

He could see what Susan was trying to say. This was the first time he was this intimate with Oliver, and he could finally see how demanding, how possessive he could be. He kissed him deeply, almost breathless, and his good hand roamed everywhere on Elio’s body - so far, only on top of his clothes and not under, and that was a blessing, because Elio didn’t think he’d last at all if he had.

“So you’ve never done this before,” Oliver growled again, against Elio’s cheek. Elio could feel his warm breath against his skin.

“No,” he managed to respond, he didn’t know how. “Sorry...”

“What are you apologizing for?” Another growl, and Oliver tilted Elio’s face up with his hand under the boy’s chin, looked into his eyes even though they were bathed in darkness.

“I don’t know,” Elio whispered. “Thought maybe me being a virgin would not be what you wanted...”

Oliver kissed his lips, briefly, and then looked at him in the eyes again.

“You must be crazy. Fuck,” Oliver breathed, took Elio’s lips in another bruising kiss. “Fuck. I love that no one else has had you before,” he said after, when he let him take a breath.

Elio felt a shiver run through his whole body, and chased Oliver’s lips with his, closed his eyes at the feel of Oliver’s hand on his body, sliding down his flank, going to lift his leg and wrapping it around his waist to increase the pressure of their groins against each other.

Elio moaned, helpless. Bucked up into him.

It was all sensation, warmth, the feel of Oliver’s hair between his fingers, the muscles of Oliver’s neck under his hand.

He wanted to stay under him forever.

“Can I undress you?”

The way Oliver asked, so reverent, after having taken control of the situation until now, made Elio look up at him, close his fingers into the hair on Oliver’s nape.

“Yeah,” he whispered back.

He closed his eyes, lay back, as Oliver kissed his neck and unlatched his trousers with one hand, pushed his hand up over Elio’s abdomen, back down on his hipbones. He jumped, when Oliver finally touched him, when his hand finally stroked him slowly, once, and then wrapped around him.

“Oh.” Elio could only breathe. He bucked up again, but Oliver’s hold was strong around him, and the older man was kissing his neck while he stroked him - and Elio thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

“Let go, baby,” Oliver whispered against Elio’s skin, after a while.

And Elio’s head spun with the intensity of the pleasure that took over his body.

His hips convulsed helplessly, and he moaned, held onto Oliver’s hair, perhaps tight enough to hurt.

It was over soon - and when he forced himself to open his eyes, heart still in his throat, Oliver was cleaning him gently with a cloth.

“Felt good?” the older man asked, a small smile on his lips.

Elio nodded.

“But - you?”

Oliver smiled. Then took his hand, kissed his knuckles.

“Want to do the same for me?”

And Elio wanted to; but his heart skipped a beat. He’d never done anything like that, aside for himself. He was terrified, but wanted to do it, do this for Oliver just like he had done it for him.

“Tell me how,” he murmured quietly.

And Oliver unlatched his own trousers; took Elio’s hand, wrapped it around himself. His own hand over Elio’s.

“Nice and tight,” Oliver said, his voice a husky murmur. “Slow...and then faster. Just like this.”

Elio was trembling, but he obeyed. Oliver was touching himself with Elio’s hand, guiding the speed and the pressure. Elio was fascinated. And something was already burning again in his belly.

Oliver came soon after, too. But when he did, he thrust against Elio’s abdomen, and when he came, it was on Elio’s skin - all over his belly.

“Fuck,” Oliver panted, like Elio had done.

And Elio didn’t think his heart was ever going to stop drumming like crazy in his chest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They were dressed again, curled up on the cot; Oliver’s arms wrapped around Elio, Elio’s back against Oliver’s chest.

“Do you think anyone heard?” Elio asked, quietly. “Did we make noise?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Oliver said, his mouth pressed against the tight, soft curls on the back of Elio’s head.

And then, after a moment:

“I want to take you somewhere, tomorrow.”

“Somewhere? Where?”

He felt Oliver sigh against him.

“In town. Somewhere we can stay for the night. Where you can be as loud as you want. Where I can make love to you, and I can do it properly.”

Elio’s stomach squeezed. It’s what he wanted; it was happening. Tonight had only been the beginning.

He was scared, but also, impatient.

“I’d like that,” he murmured back.

And then felt Oliver kiss his nape; listened, until the older man’s breathing slowed down. And then, he fell asleep, too.


	17. Saint Moran

The morning after, they woke up at dawn.

The whole camp was still asleep, save for Alcyd who was standing guard just on the outskirts - and Elio and Oliver tried to be as quiet as they could as they walked to the horses, loading cargo for their overnight trip, and trying to unhitch Arthur without making too much noise - but failing, and laughing way too loud for Alcyd not to hear.

“Tell the others we’ll be gone for a couple of days,” Oliver told the older man, smiling at the judgemental look Alcyd gave him in return. He was always grumpy, and even more so when he had to keep guard really early in the morning.

“Can you let me hold the reins, for a little while?” Elio asked, a smile still pinching the corners of his lips and making the dimples in his cheeks more evident.

He was looking up at Oliver, his eyes wide, innocent like a puppy dog.

And Oliver was completely defenceless.

He looked down at the boy, hand on the small of his back, staring at those plump, red lips, wanting so much to kiss them.

“Fine,” he said, with a playful roll of his eyes, causing the boy’s smile to widen, and he walked closer to the horse, took hold of the reins in one hand as he grasped the edges of the saddle.

With one push, he hoisted himself up; and Oliver followed, wrapping his arms around Elio’s waist from behind. Holding onto Arthur’s mane, so that Elio was securely nestled on the horse.

“Let’s go, Arthur!” Elio spurred Arthur into a trot, and then a canter - his voice so excited that Oliver couldn’t help but smile wider himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They rode for a while, until they left the woods behind, a long, dusty road skirting a corn field ahead of them.

“Stop for a moment,” Oliver murmured against the side of Elio’s head.

“What?” Elio replied, distracted.

“Arthur. Stop, boy,” Oliver ordered.

The horse obeyed, of course, as he always did when Oliver spoke. And when it stopped, stomping one front hoof onto the ground idly, Elio tried to turn back, look at Oliver behind him.

“Oliver, what-“ he started - but Oliver didn’t let him finish; he cupped his face with both hands, instead, and kissed him.

Taking the boy’s lips with his, and closing his eyes tightly, pushing his tongue into Elio’s mouth, kissing him, so deep and intense. Holding Elio into his arms as they rode, his warmth, his beauty - Oliver could not contain himself. There was no one around, but even if there had been, Oliver couldn’t have cared less.

After a while, Arthur gruffed quietly, and Oliver smiled into Elio’s mouth.

“I think someone is getting impatient,” Elio murmured softly, his forehead against Oliver’s as he turned back as much as he could towards him.

“I’m getting impatient,” Oliver shot back. He kissed Elio’s open lips again, pushing against him, still holding his face into his punishing grip. He only removed one of his hands to slide it down Elio’s chest, blindly reaching around and down, between the boy’s legs.

“Hey, off,” Elio giggled, batting away Oliver’s wandering hand. Oliver smiled, gave Elio’s lower lip a gentle bite.

“Oh, come on.”

“No, no, Mister Oliver. So unbecoming if you,” Elio reprimanded playfully, smiling. He leaned close to Oliver again, spoke on his mouth. “Thought you were taking me somewhere private.”

And Oliver had to close his eyes again, take a deep breath, exhale, to calm himself down.

“Come on then, baby. Let’s hurry up.”

Elio chuckled, and turned back to face the road, kicking his heels into Arthur’s side to spur the horse on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They reached Saint Moran mid-morning.

It was a small town, but quite far to the west of camp and rather remote from anyone who might know them - or so Oliver hoped, anyway.

“Albert mentioned this town to me some time ago. Said it was nothing remarkable, but there’s a saloon with decent rooms,” Oliver told Elio, as the Arthur paced through the Main Street. “Ah! There.”

The saloon was an old building, with boards on top of the entrance which read ‘hot meals’ ‘beds’ and ‘drinks’, a few men stood outside, some drinking already.

Oliver reached over, gently pulled the reins, and dismounted when Arthur stilled, Elio following suit.

The men watched them, as they walked over to the entrance, and Oliver wasn’t surprised - they were from out of town, after all, and didn’t see many strangers come through.

Oliver asked for a room for the night, kept an eye on Elio as he waited to receive the key.

“You don’t have to always watch over me, you know,” Elio smiled when, a couple of minutes later, they were walking into their bedroom.

“I don’t have to, but I want to.” Oliver smiled back, padding over to the boy. “You’re- precious. To me.”

It was such an honest, impromptu confession. The closest he could come to describing his feelings for Elio, right now - and the boy smiled again, his eyes shining.

Oliver held his hand, stroked it with his thumb.

“You hungry? Want to eat something?”

“Maybe,” Elio nodded. “Can we try downstairs? Do you think they do table service?”

“They might. I’ll ask if they have somewhere quiet. With not too many lurking faces around.”

And Elio nodded, squeezed Oliver’s fingers with his, and let the older man lead him back downstairs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The waiter had a table right at the corner of the room - which was nothing fancy, an old, run of the mill restaurant with walls a deep burgundy colour, and half-melted unlit candles everywhere, the smell of ale still permeating the old wooden tables.

But they had an enjoyable lunch. A meat dish, roast lamb with baked potatoes, and Oliver managed to tempt Elio into having dessert. The maraschino strawberries finished off the meal nicely.

They took their time - they didn’t have anywhere else to go. They could just enjoy each other’s company, and Oliver definitely intended to.

When they were done, they went for a walk nearby. Elio discovered a candy shop - and Oliver, in turn, discovered Elio had a very strong sweet tooth - and returned to their room with an armload of liquorice and caramel drops.

“I’m having fun,” Elio said, smiling wide once again. It made Oliver fill his chest with pleasure, knowing that he’d made Elio happy. He wanted to kiss him again; was dying to taste his lips, now that they must be sugary sweet from all the candy he’d had.

But he didn’t want to overwhelm him, and so, he walked over to the bed, sat on the edge, and lay down.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been on a real mattress,” he sighed, feeling so tired, suddenly.

Stood by the other side of the bed, Elio tilted his head. “You always wake up so early. Maybe we should have a nap.”

“A nap sounds good. Really good,” Oliver was already drifting off.

He felt the bed dip, and opened his eyes to Elio laying down next to him - a hand on his arm. Oliver closed his eyes again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The room was dark when Oliver woke again.

The first thing he noticed, before reality crept in and he remembered where he was, was the softness of an unfamiliar bed under him - and Elio’s light, familiar scent next to him, the sound of his breathing.

Oliver spent a good few minutes just watching him. He was beautiful.

Oliver loved his pale skin. The freckles, scattered light over his nose and cheekbones. The long dark eyelashes that fanned out on his skin as he slept; the well-defined, full mouth, scarlet like a woman’s, soft and so, so delightful to kiss. 

The boy’s raven hair was already starting to grow back, curling around his ears in uneven strands due to Oliver’s unmethodical hair-cutting abilities. Oliver couldn’t wait for it to be long again, for him to be able to plunge his fingers in it, hold onto the curls, pull a little.

Oliver stirred, feeling himself grow hard already just looking at the young man by his side. He’d been having sex since he was sixteen; he was twenty-five now - he’d had a long string of lovers already.

But, no doubt, Elio was the most stunning.

He reached out with a hand and stroked Elio’s bottom lip with a thumb. Lightly, but firm enough that he would feel it - Oliver felt selfish right now, hormones and want taking over his body, wanted to wake up the boy. Make him his; fully.

Elio blinked, frowning as he opened his eyes tentatively, and probably tried to pinpoint his surroundings.

“Hey,” Oliver greeted, smiling. Full of tenderness, because Elio looked so confused. But then the boy smiled, too, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Sorry. Have I slept for long?” he asked, hiding his face into the pillow sheepishly.

“Nah. I’ve only just woken up myself. We needed the rest, I think.”

The silence that followed, then, was full of meaning. They had travelled to town to spend the night together - and now, it was time. It was happening.

Elio looked at him from the corner of one eye, and then hid his face into the pillow again.

“You all right?” Oliver asked.

Elio nodded.

Oliver might have had many lovers, but Elio felt so precious, so delicate as if he was made of crystal; Oliver found himself hesitating, not wanting to approach him like he would other, more experienced lovers, not wanting to spook him.

So, he pulled himself up to sitting against the headboard, and looked down at Elio - saw his eyelashes fluttering as if with sleepiness. Decided to make a joke.

“You’re not going to fall asleep on me again, are you?”

His tone was playful, and Elio’s smile, then, mirrored his own.

“I’m not going to fall asleep on you!” Elio protested, just as playful, and pulled himself up to sitting, rubbing one eye and scowling in mock offence.

Oliver reached out, cradled Elio’s hand in his - and then pulled him gently over to him. The boy hesitated for a moment, and Oliver guided him further over to straddle his legs, Elio’s thighs on each side of Oliver’s hips. Once he had him settled he cupped his face, guided him down for another kiss - holding him steady and controlling their movements, his tongue pushing into Elio’s mouth, an anticipation of what his body wanted to do to Elio’s.

“Off, off, off, off,” Oliver chanted, divesting Elio of his shirt, kissing his collarbone, his sternum, his stomach as he did so. 

Though more tentative, Elio’s hands were also exploring; over Oliver’s chest, down his back under his shirt, into his hair.

Oliver looked up at him, eyes mischievous, and reached out to kiss a nipple - revelling in the little jump Elio gave at that.

“Sensitive?” he asked, voice husky, a knowing smile hiding in his voice.

Elio’s own voice, in response, was a murmur.

“I don’t know.”

His large hand holding Elio’s ribcage, Oliver kissed the nipple again, and then the other one - then held his mouth on it to suck, and lick slowly. Elio tensed beautifully.

“Mmmh. I think you are.”

He continued sucking on his nipples in turn, slowly, until the boy writhed in his arms, pushed his hips into Oliver - his eyes closed, breath laboured, just instinct controlling his reactions.

“Kiss me,” Elio demanded after a while. And Oliver did; and when Elio’s fingers closed on the hair on Oliver’s nape, hard and tight and bringing forth a shadow of pleasure - pain, Oliver flipped them over, so that the boy was under him and he was between his legs.

A feral need was taking over him now; a need to possess, to take, to touch, to mark.

He guided Elio’s hands down on the boy’s belt, a hint for him to undress that Elio luckily obeyed - even though he was trembling, even though he was biting his lip, tense, a smattering of scarlet on his cheeks due to arousal and apprehension.

When they were both naked, Oliver lay on him, covering his body. A hand, stroking through Elio’s curls. Eyes in his eyes.

“You’re big,” Elio said softly.

Oliver loved the red on his face.

“I’ll go slow. I’ll be gentle. You can stop me, whenever you want.”

Elio nodded, bit his lower lip again; and Oliver nuzzled into the side of his nose, eyes closed, inhaling his scent; the thought of the moment they would become one a sweet, sweet anticipation.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! Haha. Please don’t kill me. This chapter was getting really long, and I’d rather post something soon than making you wait more. 
> 
> Leave me a comment if you want to know more.... ;)


	18. His first

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go! A whole chapter of smut... x

Oliver kissed Elio’s mouth. Then his chin. Then his throat; his collarbone, the center of his chest; his stomach, down to his abdomen.

Elio’s whole body was on fire.

He lay back, his arms by his side, trying to look relaxed and at ease, but really his hands wanted to hold onto the thick cotton bedsheets the further down Oliver’s kisses went. 

He was hard already, of course. His abdomen quivered, with anticipation and with nerves, and as he watched the older man’s lips touch one of his hipbones, then the other, he took a deep breath, pushed his teeth into his lower lip.

Oliver could see everything. Oliver’s face was so close to the most private part of Elio’s body. Oliver’s eyes could observe his skin in the most exact detail - and Elio wondered if he liked what he was seeing.

Then, unexpectedly, Oliver’s hands went to hold Elio’s thighs, and nudged then open. It gave Oliver’s mouth more space to kiss, and at the first touch of his tongue to Elio’s sex, the boy tensed up, moaned his name out loud.

“Oliver. Oliver, wait.”

“Are you okay?” Oliver’s blue eyes looked at him, carefully.

“Yes, yes, but- what - what are you doing?”

Oliver smiled, his fingers still holding Elio’s slender thighs, stroking them slowly.

“I am kissing you. You don’t want me to?”

Oliver sounded so sure, so serene in his answer - but now the fire in Elio’s cheeks had turned into a blaze, and he took a breath, almost overwhelmed already.

“No, I - I want you to. I just - it’s not, you can’t do that.”

He didn’t even know what he was trying to say. He just knew this wasn’t something people usually did, or at least, he didn’t think so.

He had schoolmates who told him that it was a thing harlots did, that it felt good, yes, but no respectable person usually tried to do such a thing.

“Yes, I can. And I will, if you let me.”

And again Oliver’s voice, so sure, and so low, and filled with desire.Elio tensed up again, and Oliver continued - he must have noticed.

“You’ll like it. But if you don’t, you can just tell me and I’ll stop.”

Elio just about managed to take a breath.

“But - will you like it?” he asked, hesitantly, feeling himself flush scarlet all over again.

The low rumble of Oliver’s voice, then, did nothing but fan the fire in Elio’s body even more.

“Oh. I already know that I will love it.”

Elio was dying, dying, to feel Oliver’s mouth on him - and he knew that what he’d been told was hear’say, after all.

So, he nodded, trembling. And, as Oliver kissed him, his lips closing around him, tongue warm and licking his skin, he clenched his fingers even tighter around the bedsheets. Closed his eyes, set his teeth as Oliver sucked on him, and fuck, the sensation was unlike anything he’d ever felt in his life.

A couple of minutes later and he thought he would orgasm already. His hips bucked, on their own, and he opened his eyes and blinked, worriedly, at Oliver, fearing he might have hurt him.

But Oliver just smiled, chuckled a little. 

“Good?”

He kissed Elio’s hipbone again, pulled up to look at him.

“Yeah, yeah, I just - should I finish, already?”

Elio’s voice was trembling, too, now, and Oliver chuckled softly.

“Oh, no, no. Not yet. We’re only just getting started.”

He pulled up, crawled over Elio again, joined their mouth in another bruising kiss - Elio could taste something different in his mouth, something new. Himself, on Oliver’s tongue.

His brain no longer worked. All he could feel was warmth, skin, sweat. All he could hear was their breaths, his own heartbeat. All he wanted was Oliver.

He kissed back, moaning softly into the older man’s mouth, and then, when they separated, he looked up into his eyes in rapture.

“Fuck me, Oliver.”

He didn’t know how he managed to ask, and his voice was still trembling, he was still terrified. But he wanted it. He really wanted it.

Oliver laughed gently and growled, low in his throat.

“Mmmh. It would be my pleasure.”

He kissed him again, and Elio tried to focus on the feel of his mouth, on his tongue that stroked his, on Oliver’s teeth biting into his lips.

Oliver, then, broke the kiss, and pulled up for a moment to reach into his discarded satchel, retrieving a small bottle of something.

“Oil,” he explained, uncapping the bottle, pouring a few drops of the sticky liquid onto his fingers carefully. “It’ll make it easier.”

He crawled back on top of Elio, pecked his lips.

“Lift up your leg,” he encouraged softly.

Elio did, and closed his eyes. Waited for the first contact, the touch of Oliver’s finger against his skin. The pad was rough, but made slippery by the oil - and Elio waited, scrunching his eyes shut.

“Open those beautiful eyes,” Oliver asked in a husk. “Keep them on me.”

Elio really wanted to obey but it felt like a gargantuan feat, felt like it would be much easier not to look, not to know, just let it happen. But Oliver wasn’t moving, and so Elio forced himself to obey.

He earned a slow smile from his lover.

“Keep your eyes fixed on me. Breathe.”

It was easy enough to do, and yet, such an effort. Elio kept his eyes on Oliver’s as he was being asked, and breathed, and the touch of Oliver’s finger was nice, slow, pleasant at first. Until there was pressure, his finger pushing into his body, looking for space there.

“Keep breathing,” Oliver said, and Elio found himself thankful for the reminder - it seemed like he had entirely forgotten he needed oxygen.

He swallowed, and Oliver smiled, so he gave him a little smile in return. So far, it didn’t hurt. It was okay.

He knew a girl a few years back who got married young, to a postman her age, and she’d told Elio how much it hurt when she lay with him for the first time. Elio guessed it would be the same for him - maybe worse...

“Hey, hey,” Oliver said, his voice warm. “You’re thinking too much, baby. Stop.”

And it was true. Elio checked himself - came back into his own body. Flexed his leg gently, the muscles of his abdomen - Oliver was still inside him, with two fingers this time. It burned a little, but it wasn’t too bad.

“Kiss me? Please?” the boy asked.

Oliver did, of course, and Elio focussed on that, on their mouths connecting once again, on the familiar, reassuring feel of Oliver’s lips on his own. He tried to breathe and relax and let Oliver’s fingers do what they should.

“Want to touch me?” Oliver murmured to him, after a few long minutes of kissing.

It was like waking up from a slumber, and Elio blinked, found that yes, he did, he wanted to touch Oliver. He could do that.

Oliver pulled up a little so he was hovering over him. Elio watched, as Oliver grabbed the oil again, and then Elio’s hand and poured a few generous drops on the boy’s palm.

Then, he guided his hand onto himself.

Elio knew what to do, now.

He stroked, up and down, holding Oliver tight in his fingers. He relished the feel, the sensation - and chased Oliver’s lips with his while he touched him until Oliver kissed him again, breathing into his mouth.

“Stop, stop,” Oliver chuckled softly, halting Elio’s hand with his. And then, looking into his eyes: “Do you feel ready?”

Elio’s heart was galloping in his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, and nodded.

Oliver didn’t give him time to overthink.He positioned himself and then, slow, painstakingly slow, he pushed his hips forward, into the cradle of Elio’s own.

Pain, and discomfort was the first thing Elio felt.

He set his teeth and closed his eyes, forcing himself to keep quiet, to just wait - but he couldn’t help but cry out when the pain pinched at his insides.

“Breathe,” Oliver just said.

Elio was torn - between wanting to stop him, and wanting him to keep going, until it was done - until it had happened.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Oliver murmured, looking into his eyes. “You don’t know how happy I am that I found you. I want to keep you forever. You’re mine.”

Elio had tears down his cheeks once Oliver was completely inside him. And it was such a strange thing, because he hadn’t even noticed he was crying. More than the pain, the stretch, more than the discomfort, it was Oliver’s words that got him - the way he talked to him, the way he looked at him.

And Elio could not look away.

“I’ve fallen in love with you.”

This last thing - these last six words - was Elio’s downfall.

He couldn’t stop the tears, as emotion washed over him and he let Oliver kiss him, opened his mouth to him, and sobbed as the older man started thrusting into him. It still hurt, of course, but he felt in Oliver’s hands, at his mercy, completely his and he loved that feeling, no matter how fragile his body felt, no matter the onslaught of sensation and the effort to relax, stop his hands from clawing at Oliver’s skin in a mixture of desire and torment.

He forced himself to let go, to breathe, and then Oliver was able to thrust deeper - and Elio’s body gave a jolt. He felt as if he’d been stung by a thorn, a jab that echoed waves of pleasure through his whole body - something he’d never felt before.

“Feel good?” Oliver murmured again against his temple, and Elio nodded. The second time was even stronger - like a hit to his insides that made his head spin. He arched his back, completely involuntarily, and Oliver kissed his cheek, his body keeping up the rhythm, his hands on either side of Elio on the mattress - and the way his muscles bulged, flexing, because of how he was holding himself up, the way he breathed on Elio’s mouth made Elio want to swoon, want to open himself up even more, and tell Oliver that yes, he belonged to him, forever, forever.

“I’m close,” Oliver said softly, kissing his temple. “I want to come inside you.”

Elio could only register the words, the fog in his head not letting him react if not by arching back, rolling back his eyes, wrapping his arms around Oliver to hold onto him during those final, punishing thrusts. Then Oliver pushed once more, deeper than he had done before and stopped, froze against Elio, eyes closed as breathing erratic against Elio’s cheekbone.

“Touch yourself,” Oliver breathed against Elio’s forehead. “Touch yourself, baby. Like you did yesterday.”

His hand trembling, Elio obeyed. And with Oliver still inside him, with his body still on fire, full of desire, pain and want, he came with a couple of pulls, arching his back, and crying out Oliver’s name.


	19. The House In The Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a repost.

They lay in bed for a while, afterwards.

On their side, facing each other; Oliver kept his hand on Elio’s throat, stroking the skin slowly with the tip of his fingers. The room was dark, but the light from the window let him see Elio’s well-defined mouth - the full bottom lip, the delightful Cupid’s bow - and the boy’s eyes, twinkling gently.

“Are you tired?” Oliver asked.

Elio blinked, hesitated for a moment.

“No, not yet.”

“This place has baths, also. I was thinking of going for a wash tonight. What do you think?”

Elio’s eyes went wide, almost comically so, and Oliver smiled.

“A bath? Like an actual real tub, with soap? That sounds like heaven to me right now, honestly.”

Oliver, then, laughed.

“You and me both, kid,” he said, and then let his hand stroke down Elio’s shoulder as he pulled up to sitting. “Come on, then. Let’s try and go now, wash all our grime off.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver went down to the saloon owner to purchase the bath. A few minutes later, he and Elio walked to the room - and the scent of soap was everywhere, wafting from the steam coming off the tub.

It did look, and smell, heavenly.

Oliver got in first, and then helped Elio in too, letting the boy sit in front of him, his back to Oliver’s chest.

Oliver closed his arms around Elio’s torso, pushed his lips against the boy’s nape.

“I know that everyone who’s seen us in this saloon thinks I’m your lackey, or something,” Elio said, but there was no heat whatsoever in his words, and he was smiling, laying back in the hot water.

Oliver kissed him behind his ear.

“Do you mind?”

“No, I don’t care. At all. If it means we can do this,” Elio replied, with a satisfied sigh, closing his eyes.

Oliver chuckled softly; and then, he slipped a hand under Elio’s chin, and tilted it back, so that he could reach the boy’s mouth.

They kissed. Slow, at first, then more intensely, deeper and deeper. Oliver let him go only when Elio moaned softly in his arms, arched his spine almost imperceptibly. Oliver was hard, and Elio could feel it.

“Are you okay?” the older man asked when they separated.

Elio nodded.

“But are you okay... everywhere?”

Elio opened his eyes at the question, and then smiled, bashful, his hand lifting to scratch his forehead and covering half of his face in the meantime.

“It’s a simple question,” Oliver chuckled softly, nuzzling the side of Elio’s neck with his nose.

“Yes. I’m okay.”

So Oliver took the boy’s lips in another kiss. And soon they were breathing into each other’s mouths, and Oliver’s hands had slid down, under the water, down on Elio’s abdomen and under him.

The first touch of Oliver’s finger made Elio jump, almost imperceptibly; but then, he pushed back, rubbing his backside onto Oliver as he moved, moaning into Oliver’s mouth as the finger went deeper.

He moaned again when Oliver pushed inside him, holding Elio in his arms, kissing under his jaw and telling him to relax, to close his eyes, to just feel, feel everything. Oliver took his time, making love to him in the water of the tub, letting himself feel, too. He fucked him until the water ran cold - he was going almost delirious, with desire and with pleasure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When they returned to the room, it was already late in the evening.

They had eaten so much a few hours earlier that they didn’t really feel like having anything for dinner - Elio just chewing on more liquorice, licking sugar from his fingers, smearing what was left into Oliver’s lips, and laughing - and soon, they were curled up under the covers, kissing lazily, waiting for sleep to take them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I brought my letter, by the way,” Elio said, the morning after, after they put their clothes back on, got ready to leave. “I wrote it, like you said. But don’t worry if we can’t mail it.”

Oliver smiled while fastening his belt around his waist.

“No, I think it’s fine. We can ride to the post office on our way back.”

It was a sunny day, and quite warm, too. Oliver liked days like these - and today, particularly, for obvious reasons.

As they were about to leave, as Elio reached for the door, Oliver took hold of him, pushed him gently against the wall - and kissed him again, holding his face in his hands, breathing in his scent.

It was a few more, long minutes before they actually made their way back downstairs. And when they finally walked out, went to take Arthur from the stable, Elio was smiling, and Oliver with him.

The post office wasn’t the easiest place to find- they actually had to ask for directions. They stopped, just by the side of the road, asked a priest who was begging for donations for the church.

Letter mailed, they set off to return to camp.

But there was something Oliver needed to do, first.

“I need to take a detour,” he told Elio, as Arthur trotted down a small trail through a patch of woods.

They soon reached what Oliver was looking for. A house.

It looked abandoned from outside, but it only seemed so because no one lived there any longer; the owners had been killed.

Their bodies still lay, lifeless and cold, on the floor of the main room - and Oliver knew this, because Alcyd had told him.

“What are we doing?” Elio asked as Oliver stopped Arthur, and dismounted.

“I need to do something. You stay here, I will be right back.”

“Oliver, wait,” Elio protested, and he was looking at Oliver, confused, his eyebrows knitted.

“I’ll be right back,” Oliver repeated, patted his leg as he left.

He needed to be quick. When Alcyd had ridden by Saint Moran, and through the woods, movement had caught his eye - and he’d found himself the accidental witness to a house robbery. The small, wooden hut was isolated enough that no one heard the screams of terror from the man and the woman who lived there; by the time Alcyd arrived, they were dead - and soon, the thief was too, one of Alcyd’s arrows deep into his spine. 

Alcyd only had time for a quick look inside the house - he had to leave, it was too risky to hang around after such a commotion - but he’d told Oliver about it. That house was worth another visit, in safer times.

Times like now.

And he wasn’t wrong. The couple was rich, which explained the attempted robbery, and Oliver soon found a small treasure- bank notes, jewellery - hidden under the floor and in the fireplace.

“What are you doing?”

Elio stood a few steps from the door, as Oliver exited the house, loot in his hands.

“I told you to wait,” Oliver responded. He knew Elio didn’t like not being told what was happening; but he just didn’t have the time now.

“What is that? Why are we here?” Elio continued.

Oliver gestured to Arthur, while fastening the saddle bags.

“Get back on the saddle, we need to leave.”

He mounted the horse, and then looked down, at Elio, who was still stubbornly looking up at him, frowning.

“Did you - did we come here to rob that house?”

“Elio. Get on the horse. Please.”

Elio pursed his lips; but finally, a couple of moments later, he relented, and climbed on.

As Oliver spurred Arthur into a gallop, back on the road to camp, he could feel the tension in Elio’s body. He knew the boy was confused - he knew he had questions.

He just wished he didn’t have to explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. This is my usual note where I ask you to leave me a comment if you are reading and/or if you like this story. 
> 
> I know it’s much easier to read and then go on to other stuff, because ‘someone else will comment’, or because ‘I’m sure the author will keep writing anyway’ - but this is simply not true. 
> 
> I can’t speak for other authors nor would I want to, but I don’t write ‘for myself’. If I wanted to write for myself I would keep all my stories on my phone, and would not post them onto ao3- trust me. 
> 
> I write for the interaction with the readers, I write because I like finding out what you think, or even knowing that you are reading. And sadly, if you read and never leave a comment, I will NEVER know that you read or that you liked it, which is even worse. 
> 
> So please, when you want to think ‘ah who cares someone else will leave a comment’, then think that every comment makes me happy, inspires me, and pushes me to write and post the next chapter sooner. 
> 
> When I feel that people aren’t reading, I simply don’t feel like writing. 
> 
> And to all the readers who comment every single time, even with just one word: you are a blessing, and I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know. 
> 
> Thank you.


	20. This Is Our Life

When they arrived back at camp, Elio dismounted, in silence. Oliver followed suit, and stopped to hitch Arthur at their makeshift post, kept an eye on the boy. He still looked tense, stiff; and the fact that he hadn’t said a word the whole ride didn’t bode well.

When Elio made to leave, still without a word, Oliver had to speak.

“Elio. Wait.”

The boy stopped, his back to Oliver, but did not move for a few, long moments; and when he did, he turned around, and he was frowning, his eyes hard.

“Did we go to Saint Moran to rob that house? Was that your plan all along?”

Oliver shook his head.

“No, of course not.”

“And then - and then what, since you had to go there you just thought you’d sleep with me?”

Elio’s voice was raised, his frown even deeper, and Oliver could tell he was riling himself up, running with his own assumptions - and Oliver needed to try and stop that before it was too late.

And yet, he didn’t know what to say. Elio had never spoken to him that way.

“Elio...”

“When I - before I left, before I left my family, we were being threatened, we - my father was afraid of leaving home, of leaving me and my mother because these people had been trying to rob us.” Elio was speaking fast, breath hitching, as if he’d been running and running. “Those people - they could have been my parents. You could - you could have been them, the people who threatened us.”

His eyes were wide, bright. His chest was moving fast with his breaths.

Oliver thought he would start crying.

But Elio didn’t. When he didn’t receive an answer from Oliver - Oliver didn’t really know what he could say, right then - Elio turned back around, and walked towards the tents, his hands in tight fists alongside his body.

“Elio! Come back here!” Oliver said, finally, told him, his voice hard, involuntarily commanding.

“I’m not your lackey, Oliver,” Elio spat back. And then he kept walking, back to the tents, disappearing into the one he and Oliver had shared, for only one night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was obvious that Elio didn’t want Oliver to follow him, and so the older man stayed behind. He had things to do, urgent ones at that, before he could tackle whatever was happening with Elio right now; his loot from the abandoned house in the woods needed to be donated to the camp funds.

The majority of it was going to be kept, in the case of cash, or sold, in the case of valuables, in order to buy necessities for the gang; a percentage of it was going to be given to whoever took part in a mission - in this case, Oliver.

As he deposited the loot in the camp safe, Albert approached him.

“Saw you and the kid when you got back. What was that about?”

Oliver closed his eyes, turned around, but didn’t look at his boss.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Albert was quiet for a moment.

“I don’t want any of that talking back business. This is us, this is our gang. There are rules. Whoever doesn’t want to follow-“

“It’s nothing of that,” Oliver interrupted him, finally looked at Albert, trying to convey confidence. “He’s just - young. New. He’ll come around.”

“You were his age when I took you in, Oliver. You never had issues. This is serious, my friend. I won’t tolerate liabilities in this camp.”

“Albert, I told you, it’s nothing. He’s just from a different - world, than us. He just has to get used to this. He is, it just takes time.”

Oliver tried to keep his voice level, although he felt like he was quickly losing his patience. First Elio, now Albert; all Oliver wanted was to do his best, to do his job, what was needed for the gang.

He felt exhausted.

If nothing else, Albert knew him, perhaps better than anyone else - and so he just nodded.

“Make sure you have your share of dinner. You forget to eat, my boy.”

And with that, thankfully, he took his leave.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver knew Albert wanted to let him know he’d noticed - that, lately, he’d been so concerned with Elio, so distracted with him, that it had been hard for him to take care of the most basic of tasks without thinking of the boy first.

And so he made a point of eating Susan’s stew, on his own, not really feeling like making conversation that night.

He knew Elio wasn’t going to come out for dinner, and he let him hide away for a while longer.

He walked to the tent a little later. He stopped by the entrance; thinking.

Then he took a deep breath, and entered their makeshift home.

Elio was sitting down on their cot, legs crossed; one of his books propped on them, frowning, deep in concentration.

He looked up as Oliver came in, seemed surprised for a moment, but looked back down swiftly.

“Listen, Elio,” Oliver started. His voice quiet. “I don’t know what happened back there.” He took a breath. Speaking seemed so difficult. “I am sorry I made you upset, with what I did. What I can say for definite is that I didn’t plan to go to Saint Moran for that house. I wanted to go there to spend time with you. Just like I said.”

Elio didn’t look up, and so Oliver took a deep breath; hardened his voice. 

“However; I have duties. The gang can only survive if we - if all the members pitch in. No matter what you think of this - no matter how you judge it, or judge us. I will never stop trying to do what needs to be done for the gang.”

He took another deep breath. Elio had looked up, definitely sensing the shift in tension - the different tone in Oliver’s voice; and so Oliver forced himself to ignore the red rimming the boy’s eyes, and made himself say what he needed to say. 

“This is life in the gang, Elio. I am sorry that what happened hurt you, and your family - but the survival of our family, right now, is what I need to think about. The gang is more than each of us individually. More than our own pain, and our own preferences.” He sighed. “I will do anything to protect you, and to keep you with me. But I need you to understand where I’m coming from, too.”

Elio’s eyes were even brighter, now, and the boy was biting his lower lip, certainly in an effort not to cry.

Oliver closed his eyes once again, to keep his resolve - and then turned on his heels, and left the tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments. I read every single one of them, of course.
> 
> Please keep it up. Even one word means a lot to me. X


	21. The River Flowing

When Elio woke up, the following morning, he did so to the usual noises and chatter from camp. It told him their daily routines had started a while ago, already, but he didn’t have a watch to be able to tell what time it was.

His head hurt. As he tried to open his eyes, his eyelids burned with the remains of tears stuck to his lashes.

That’s when he remembered everything.

Slowly, he turned around on the cot to look at the other side, finding out what he knew, anyway: Oliver hadn’t come back to sleep last night.

Elio took a deep breath, and rubbed all the sleep that was left from his eyes and cheeks, annoyed at himself for having overslept, annoyed at his heart, for beating faster at the thought of having to wake up without Oliver.

No one else had come to wake him up, or to check on him. Elio swallowed, felt like crying again: what if everyone hated him now? What if everyone, even Sadie, decided he was a nuisance, what if they decided to abandon him to his fate?

He bit his lower lip and pulled himself up to sitting, trying to breathe deep, reminding himself to be rational, be brave.

The more he stayed in that tent, alone, the stranger it would be, the more attention he would attract to himself - and that was the last thing he wanted. He didn’t want Susan to think he was a child - he didn’t want Albert or the other men to think he was a burden.

Quietly, he got up, picked up his clothes, and walked to the river nearby to wash his face, freshen up, in the hope of looking as awake as possible.

His daytime clothes on, he walked back to camp. His eyes scanned the place for Oliver, almost frantic, even though he didn’t want to admit it - even to himself. But the older man was nowhere to be seen.

“Good morning, Elio.” Sadie’s voice, almost making him jump, as lost in thought as he was. “Are you well? I was worried about you.”

Elio made himself smile at her. “No, no, I’m fine,” he replied. He really wanted to ask where Oliver was, but bit his lip instead, stopped himself from saying anything.

“Good. I have some food here, if you’re hungry?” Sadie said, pointed to an opened tin of fruit in syrup and a box of oatcakes. “The guys have left really early. With the money Oliver brought back last night, they can go to the market today, finally! I can’t believe we might have bread to eat tomorrow! And maybe chocolate. Hosea always gets chocolate, thank the Lord for him!”

She sounded so excited, and Elio swallowed.

The money Oliver brought back. The money he got from that house.

The loot Elio got angry at him for.

“So... they went into town?” he asked, quietly. Tentatively.

“There’s a trapper, just near Sunnymesa, about an hour riding West from here. And a fence - so they can sell the jewellery for more money, to buy more food. Then there’s a doctor there and that’s good, we really need to buy more medicine. And now we can!”

Elio breathed.

Oliver and the others went to buy food, and medicine, for the gang. The gang who had been on very limited supply until now, but who had never refused to share what little they had with him.

The gang who bravely hunted, and protected the camp, and Elio, with no fear of injury or diseases even though they were low on medicines, which they could finally buy more of now, with the money Oliver had brought back.

Elio never thought of that.

“Elio. Honey, what’s wrong?”

Sadie’s voice brought him back to reality, and Elio shook his head, realised too late that traitorous tears were streaming down his cheeks, scalding, making him feel even guiltier. 

He rubbed them away angrily, set his jaw in the hope of stopping his lip from trembling, like the stupid child he was.

“I - it’s nothing,” he murmured only.

“No, hey, come here.” Sadie made him sit down next to her, wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “What’s happening?”

Elio hid his face into his knees, tears now flowing freely. Tears of anger, towards himself, really, more than of upset. More of fear of having lost Oliver, of him changing his mind about Elio, about them.

“Oliver will be back soon,” Sadie spoke softly. She stroked his curls gently. “It will all be fine, sweetheart. It happens, sometimes.”

Elio didn’t look up. He wasn’t surprised, at all, that Sadie was able to tell something was up between him and Oliver - she had a gift of empathy that let her know when there was something going on with people.

But it wasn’t just Oliver that Elio felt guilty towards.

“I’m sorry, Sadie,” he hiccupped, face still hidden against his knees.

“What are you sorry for?”

“I-“ Elio tried. Then had to take a breath, rubbed tears away from his eyes with the back of his hand. “I got mad at Oliver for - stealing. For taking the money that he - that the gang are using. I didn’t think - I just remembered my parents, and I didn’t think, he wasn’t the one who killed those people. I didn’t think of what the gang, of what we need to survive. And I’m sorry.”

By the end of his confession, he was crying openly, although quietly, feeling guilty for what he did and even worse, for crying about it. Crocodile tears, Mafalda would call them, if she were there.

Sadie let him cry, stroked his hair gently and slowly, until the worst of it was out of his system; and then she spoke.

“Elio. I’m no wise man, here, but... I find what you feel quite normal. How you felt when you found out, any decent person would have had doubts. It speaks highly of you, that you have morals.”

Elio wiped at his eyes again, stared at a spot on the ground, frowning. 

“It wasn’t morals, it was... I’m just privileged. And I didn’t look past that.”

“But you’re learning, now. Aren’t you?” Sadie’s fingers squeezed the short curls on his nape, very gently. “The fact that you’re feeling guilty, this - being aware. You can see things from the point of view of others. You care. This is not something that can be said for many people.”

Elio squeezed his eyes shut. He was sure Sadie was just being nice, because she was a nice person. He didn’t deserve her understanding - but he was grateful to have it, nonetheless.

“Thank you,” he told her, biting his lower lip, already red and bruised.

With a thumb, Sadie wiped a stray tear from his eye.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Elio,” she said. Smiled, gently. “And eat something. Oliver’s going to yell at me if he finds out I didn’t share this with you.”

She was obviously joking, but Elio was grateful to her for her attempt. And so he smiled back, tentatively - but still, it was definitely a smile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver returned just before sundown.

Elio heard Arthur’s neigh as they arrived, spotted the grey of the horse’s coat appearing out of the woods. He was collecting branches for the fire, and stopped to look at the men dismounting, tired, but with a look of satisfaction on their faces that meant their mission had been fruitful.

Elio made himself finish his task. He wanted to go to Oliver, he wanted to talk to him; a whole day of no contact, especially after what they had shared in Saint Moran, had been torture - and especially with the guilt that was eating at his insides.

But he waited until he was done. And then, he walked over to where Oliver had gone with Alcyd - and found them sitting by the river. Dusk all around them; a cup of rum next to each of them.

“Guy was trying to bluff. Didn’t get away with it, the fool,” Alcyd was saying, made Oliver laugh.

Stood behind them, in silence, Elio felt like smiling, too; he had missed his laugh so much. And his face, his profile.

“Can I join you?” he asked, quietly, when their conversation lulled. His voice trembled; he hoped with all his might to receive a yes.

Oliver looked up at him, interestedly, a shadow of a smile still on his face; but it was Alcyd who spoke instead.

“‘Sure, kid. Sit down here. We have some nice rum if you want some.”

Oliver’s eyes were back to looking ahead, at the river that flowed gently with the low wind of the night.

Elio shook his head at Alcyd’s offer; ignored his thumping heart, and sat down, next to Oliver.

He really wasn’t expecting the older man to talk to him first.

“Are you okay?” Oliver asked him, voice low. Sat on the other side of him, Alcyd couldn’t hear him - nor did he seem like he wanted to.

“Y-yeah,” Elio answered, his heart skipping a beat. “You?”

Oliver looked at him, then took a sip of rum from his cup. 

“Yes. It was a very eventful day. But a good one, too.”

He didn’t seem to want to offer more, and Elio bit his lip, his heart still doing somersaults.

He wanted to speak to him; desperately wanted to clear the air between them, and this was the perfect time - but Alcyd was there.

Elio didn’t know what to do. Wait to find Oliver alone, but risk it not happening, risk Oliver not spending the night in their tent again? Or speak now, risk it being awkward, and inappropriate with the other gang member there with them?

“Are you- “ Elio started; swallowed. Made himself keep talking. “Will you come back to the tent, tonight?”

He was trembling. He didn’t know why he was so terrified - or maybe, he did. This was his first relationship - if he could even call it that. His first experience of an exchange with another person, beyond family, beyond friendship. He didn’t know how to handle it. Especially since he’d realised - he really felt something for Oliver.

“Do you want me to?”

Oliver had turned to look straight into his eyes, and Elio steeled himself, refused to show how scared he was that Oliver might be done with him for good. His lower lip trembled, but he bit into it, fought back his emotions.

He just spoke, his voice no louder than a whisper, almost stuck inside his throat.

“I’m sorry.”

He forced himself to wait. To hold onto his resolve, to ignore the fear and the worry that were ravaging his insides, asking him - what if Oliver doesn’t accept your apology? What if it’s too late? What if he’s realised what a burden you are? What if he’s no longer interested, now that he’s had you, now that you’re no longer a virgin for him...

And instead; something even more shocking happened.

Oliver reached out towards him, nudged Elio’s chin up with a gentle finger; and kissed him.

Elio’s heart gave a squeeze, so sudden, that he had to remind himself to breathe, and to kiss Oliver back.

God. The taste of his lips. The sweetness, darkness of the rum on his tongue - almost made Elio feel drunk. On shock, on relief.

Oliver deepened the kiss, pushing towards him, and Elio opened his mouth, breathed deeply, determined to make Oliver happy, to give him anything he wanted.

He didn’t know how long the kiss lasted. He only remembered to bat his eyelids open when they separated, realised it was almost completely nighttime now, the sun having quickly sunk behind the horizon.

He breathed out, his face still really close to Oliver’s, eyes in his eyes.

He spoke, trying to make sure his voice worked.

“I missed you.”

He’d told Oliver before - but in such different circumstances. Now, he didn’t just miss him because he’d been away. He missed him because of what had happened between them. Because of what he, himself, had said to create such a rift. Something that still needed to be discussed - but for now, Elio just wanted to be forgiven. 

“I missed you, too,” Oliver breathed back.

The way that he was looking into Elio’s eyes - a mixture of desire, want; and impatience - made Elio react by instinct.

He pulled up on his knees, crawled over to straddle Oliver’s hips. Right there, by the bank of the river, surrounded by the newborn night around them.

He was still terrified, but his body was mostly moved by desire, now. He lowered his hips; sat on Oliver - the contact of their bodies making them both inhale deeply.

It felt instinctual, visceral. Something that his body wanted, that he couldn’t stop. His fingers in Oliver’s hair, he let his forehead lean onto Oliver’s, looked into the older man’s eyes - his own burning with the tears that had been waiting to push out all along.

“Well. I’ll leave you to it, Oliver,” Elio heard Alcyd say, as he left - as if he was from a different world.

He felt Oliver’s hands on him - stroking up his torso, and then down, along his spine, onto his backside, holding and squeezing hard, almost painful.

Elio’s hips were moving on their own in response, searching for friction. And so, he was relieved when Oliver unlatched Elio’s baggy trousers, and Elio sat up, listed one leg, then the other, to help him get them off his body. His shirt was oversized, and long enough to cover his modesty, without hindering access.

And he couldn’t see properly - could only chase Oliver’s mouth, feel his strong hands on him, all over his body - but he heard the faint noise of the bottle of oil being opened, felt Oliver’s hand leave his body to slick himself up.

As he lowered himself on him, Elio didn’t care about the pain, or the discomfort - he just wanted this. Needed this, so much.

The sex was quick, intense.

Elio wanted to keep quiet, but the truth was that he couldn’t - and in the end, he didn’t care.

Oliver’s thrusts were too deep, too well aimed inside his body for him to restrain himself. It burned, stabbed at his insides, but Oliver was breathing and moaning and in the dark, his face was the picture of bliss - and Elio would have never taken that away.

He set his teeth and forced himself to relax, held onto Oliver’s shoulders as his lover guided his movements, his large hands on Elio’s hips, faster and faster, and faster. It was so much, so much, and Elio didn’t even register the moment his body gave in to his own orgasm, almost untouched save for the friction of Oliver’s chest against him. Like a rag doll, he sagged against his older lover, and Oliver held his hips as he thrust up into him, hard, a few more times, until he came too, and let Elio sit on his lap, let both of them gain their breath back.

Elio’s heart galloped in his chest, and the boy thought it would never calm down again.

His arms around Oliver’s neck, he lay his head on the man’s shoulder, eyes closed; Oliver still inside him; and the night around them, the river flowing, oblivious to the lovers’ reuniting a few steps away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s the weekend, so I had a little more time to write. But I also did so because of all your comments - so, thank you! Please keep telling me what you think! 
> 
> And thank you @Parleroumourir for spreading the word about my story. 
> 
> X


	22. Little Wolf

Elio and Oliver retired soon after dinner, which had been a lively affair - the both of them, sitting side by side, eating bread and dried meat, and potatoes and fruit. It had almost felt like one of the meals Mafalda used to prepare for the family at home, to Elio.

They’d left the others to enjoy the food, the group for once laughing together, drinking and telling stories.

In their tent, Elio lay down on their makeshift mattress made of hay, his hands up, by the side of his head. Oliver was holding his wrists firmly pressed down on the cot, while the older man hovered over him, kissed him.

They kissed slowly, deeply. Eyes closed, Elio breathed, in sync with their mouths and their tongues moving. Listening to the sound of Oliver’s own breathing, of the quiet humming coming from his throat every now and then.

Elio knew he couldn’t move. Oliver’s hands held him down, and he couldn’t move, and he didn’t want to. He wanted to do what Oliver asked him to. He wanted to belong to him.

“Guessing you’ll stay with me?” Oliver asked, a few long minutes later, when they parted, and could both finally breathe.

His eyes were wide; the corner of his mouth, gently turned up.

Elio had to blink to free himself from the haze he’d been in until then. He looked up at Oliver, but didn’t move; his hands still up by the sides of his head, Oliver’s fingers firmly around his wrists.

“You know I’m not going anywhere.”

It did sound like a promise. And it was. It was a promise that, weeks, even days ago, Elio would have been afraid to make; but not now.

He held Oliver’s eyes, bravely - and then spoke again.

“I’m sorry. I just - I need to say it.”

Above him, Oliver’s eyes were dark, midnight blue, as he looked down at him.

“Why are you sorry?”

His face was relaxed - it was merely a question; there was no other tone, in his voice. No trap for Elio to fall into.

Elio stayed still, didn’t move, arms still up by his head; even though he wished he could hold Oliver’s hands.

“Because I spoke too soon. Because I didn’t - stop, to understand.” Even in the dark, he could see Oliver’s eyes soften. Elio spoke again. “Because I didn’t remember that I belong to you, now.”

At that, Oliver smiled.

A wide, full smile. His thumbs stroked Elio’s palms, tender, for a few moments, until Oliver finally released him. Smile still on his face, Oliver waited until Elio smiled back, almost shy, but with twinkling eyes. And then he nodded, briefly, and lay back down, onto Elio’s chest, nose and mouth pressed against Elio’s pale, slender shoulder.

“I don’t steal. I don’t kill - for the sake of it,” he murmured softly against Elio’s skin. “Being a thief, it’s not something I’m proud of. It’s something I have to do. And I’m sorry - I know this is hard. It’s hard for me, too - I am just better used to it, than you are.”

Slowly, with one hand, Elio stroked Oliver’s hair. Fingers gently combing the blonde strands. “I was wrong to speak, when I did,” he said, quietly.

After a few moments of silence, Oliver sighed - his chest rising and falling, a silhouette over Elio’s body.

“You weren’t wrong. Baby. You weren’t. You know right from wrong. And you knew it wasn’t right.” Oliver sighed again. “It just needed to be done, like the other, wretched things we need to do.” He raised his head, looked up, into Elio’s eyes. “But it’s just for now. Just until the day we leave, until the day we make a life for ourselves. We’ll become good, respectable people. I promise to you.”

Oliver’s eyes were still big, and dark blue, and he was breathing slow and deep now. Elio looked at him, for a few more moments; and then he smiled once again.

He didn’t know if Oliver was being serious. If he meant what he was promising. Elio just didn’t know. But no matter. What he knew, was that he’d always do his best to be by his side. To belong to him.

“Is Albert really unhappy with me?” the boy asked, tentatively, a few moments later. He knew Albert had seen them argue the day before.

“He’ll get over it.” Oliver kissed Elio’s skin, the delicate spot just above his collarbone. “You’re mine. He’ll get over it.”

Elio could hear Oliver’s breathing, slowing down, rhythmic, almost like a lullaby to the boy’s tired ears.

He wanted to believe Oliver, he wanted to believe him in everything. He closed his eyes, settled properly down on the cot, careful not to dislodge Oliver who was by now asleep half on top of him, a warm, familiar blanket of flesh and bones. He felt the flex in his insides as he moved, the muscles tender with the earlier exertion of their lovemaking - and Elio closed his eyes, enjoyed the sensation. The feeling of being whole; of belonging.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The day after brought a whole, fresh bout of excitement, which Elio really wasn’t expecting. It was excitement of the good sort: in the form of a dog.

A puppy. Kieran had found him by the road as he rode back from a hunting trip. Alone and abandoned, no older than a few months. It looked like a small wolf, a cross with a wild fox perhaps, they couldn’t tell; but the moment Kieran appeared with the puppy in his arms, Elio was already in love. 

“Oh my god,” he exclaimed, looking over at Oliver as they stood by the hitching posts. “Where did you find him?”

“All alone, and cold,” Kieran’s Irish accent lilted as he spoke. “You can have him, kid. Think we might need a dog in this camp.”

Eyes wide, Elio looked to Oliver, as if silently asking for permission. The puppy whined quietly, from the ground where Kieran has deposited him; and by the time Oliver’s lips only curved into a smile, Elio had already run to it, taken him into his arms.

“Oh my god. You’re so small. Are you all right, little thing?”

The puppy wagged his tail, tried to lick Elio’s hands. Made him giggle.He had golden-rust shaggy fur, with white socks, and a white muzzle.

“Oh my god. Wait until Sadie sees you,” Elio said with a laugh, and the dog gave a little bark.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio had not been wrong. Sadie pretty much melted right down to the ground when she saw the puppy; she showered him in praise, and the dog readily wagged his tail for her too.

“Oh Elio, look at him! What breed is it? Look at his eyes. If he isn’t the cutest thing!”

“I don’t know what he is. But I’ve called him Rufus.”

“Oh. Rufus. An adorable name, it suits him.”

The puppy whined and tried to bark, his short legs tripping over each other, and Sadie and Elio laughed, both crouched down next to the little dog.

“Well. Let’s hope it doesn’t grow into a wild wolf.”

Albert’s voice made both freeze and turn towards him. Elio’s eyes suddenly wide, his heart giving a jump.

Standing next to Albert, Oliver turned to the older man.

“It won’t. Slow down, friend. It’s just a puppy.”

Albert didn’t look towards him, his eyes still fixed on Elio, and the dog.

“Yeah, that’s what you always say, Oliver.” His voice was hard. “But the truth is that some pups grow feral. Before your very eyes.” He finally turned to Oliver. “Let’s hope this one doesn’t end up biting the hand that wants to feed him.”

He left after that - but by that point, Elio was looking down, at the puppy who was still playing with his hand, and pretended to be engrossed in his new friend instead of Albert’s words. 

“That’s so typical of Albert, isn’t it,” Sadie was the first to speak, rolling her eyes. She turned back to Rufus, making a face for him. “He manages to be grumpy even in front of a cutie like you.”

The dog made another attempt at barking - though it came out a bit more like a meow. And Elio made himself smile, but then looked up at Oliver, searching his eyes, a frown on his face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I think he hates me.”

Sat on the floor that night, by the fire, legs crossed, Elio watched Rufus as the dog slept curled up on a bed of leaves.

He was talking about Albert, and he knew that Oliver could tell.

“He doesn’t hate you.” Oliver took a drag of his cigar. “That’s just how he is, sometimes.”

“Mhhh.”

“I know him. I’ve known him a long time. He doesn’t hate anyone. Well, certainly not anyone in the gang.”

Elio sighed. Oliver seemed so sure, but Elio knew it wasn’t the truth. Albert didn’t like him. He never had, and now he liked him even less. Elio didn’t know why, what he’d done to make Albert hostile towards him - but it was so evident that he was.

“I don’t think he sees me as part of the gang,” Elio sighed.

He heard Oliver sigh, too. And from the corner of his eye, he saw the older man put out his cigar, and then sit down next to him.

“Well, like I said,” Oliver spoke, softly. His hand reached out, towards Elio’s face, a finger nudging the boy’s chin to gently make him turn towards Oliver. “You’re mine. You’re part of the gang. Albert is just - afraid of change. He’s not used to it.”

His eyes were blue, and calm, and so utterly unperturbed - and Elio desperately wanted to see things like Oliver did. But how could Albert be so reluctant of change, when change was such a huge part of life in the gang?

Elio closed his eyes, and let Oliver kiss him, trying to stop his mind from worrying.

He soon broke the kiss; attempted a shy smile on Oliver’s mouth, scrunching up his nose in mock distaste.

“You taste of cigar.”

Oliver laughed, the sound deep, and loving.

“Does my mistress not appreciate the taste?” He teased, his voice low - and Elio shivered. “Perhaps I can ask Miss Tilly for a mint, will that be more of your preference...”

Elio laughed, quietly. And then, in response, kissed Oliver again, smiling against his lips, cigar taste be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments!!! I read each and every one of them. Please keep them coming, let me know what you think of this new chapter... comments make me want to update faster ;)


	23. Trickster

“Please.”

“Elio. No.”

Elio frowned, bit the inside of his lower lip.

“But why not? You know I’m really good with Arthur. I can ride better than you.”

Oliver chuckled, his gaze down on the knives he was busy sharpening.

“Insulting my horseriding skills isn’t the best strategy to get what you want, you know.”

Elio sighed, and without even looking up, Oliver knew he was keeping himself from stomping his feet in frustration. The older man tried to hold in his smile, amused by the whole situation.

Elio and Sadie had decided they wanted to go horseriding together. That morning, Elio had presented the idea to Oliver, asking to borrow Arthur - saying they wouldn’t be gone long, and please, please could he go.

No matter how many times Oliver had repeated that no, he couldn’t, no, Oliver wasn’t about to let him ride around the woods without him - Elio still hadn’t given up.

“Why not? I want an answer.”

Oliver looked up, gave him the most serious look he could muster.

“I already told you why. It’s dangerous.”

“But why is it dangerous?” Elio didn’t relent. “I can ride, Sadie can ride, we’ll be close by. We won’t be gone long, maybe only minutes.”

“I thought you had Rufus to look after.”

Elio sighed again.

“I can’t believe you’re involving Rufus. He’s asleep, he won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Elio could be really tenacious when he wanted to be - not that Oliver was surprised. But still. While it had been amusing to see the boy trying to find reason after reason to get his way, at this point, Oliver had work to do.

And there was no way he was letting Elio put himself in danger.

“Baby. I said no.” He looked up, into Elio’s face, which was flushed with frustration. “I don’t want to tell you what to do but this time, you need to listen to me. It’s not safe.” Oliver looked back down at his knives, resumed his work on them. “There’s a lot of stuff to do around camp. You can help out, if you’re bored.”

He didn’t look up again, but he heard Elio growl low in his throat, a little bit like Rufus had started doing lately when someone got too close to his dinner; and then he turned on his heels, and left Oliver there to finish his job alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was so much to be done that day, and by the time Oliver finished yet another task - skinning a whole new batch of freshly killed rabbits - it was long past lunchtime.

He felt famished, and so he sat by the fire, a bowl of roast meat in hand, which he ate with bread that was two days old, but still tasted wonderful to him.

Elio hadn’t come out of their tent, and Oliver figured he was probably reading, or asleep - they had kept each other awake until way too late the night before, after all. He planned to go and check on him after lunch, to make sure the boy wasn’t too put out with him; but just as he was about to head over, Hosea approached him.

“In a hurry, dear Mister Oliver?” The man smiled, cigar in hand. “I was about to go for a smoke. Was just looking for you!”

“Ah,” Oliver stopped, smiled tightly. “I need to go check up on something, actually.”

“Your boy?” Hosea didn’t miss a beat. He brought the cigar to his mouth, cupped his hands around it to light it, talking around it like it was no big deal. “Saw him marching to your tent. Didn’t look happy. What did you do?”

He was smirking, affectionately - and Oliver knew he meant well in his teasing. Hosea was like an old uncle to everyone.

“He wants to go riding with Sadie. I said I won’t let him.”

Hosea chuckled.

“He’s spirited, that kid. He’s made of tougher stuff than he looks.”

“Yeah.” Oliver could only agree.

“I think he’s good for you,” Hosea said, and Oliver looked up at him, sensing there was more that the old man wanted to say. And he did, after a moment in which he breathed in the cigar smoke, seemed to consider his words.

“This life, you know. Homeless, always running, like strays - it doesn’t last. Don’t be like me. I think that boy will show you the right way.”

“Yeah. Unless he gets tired of me way before that,” Oliver couldn’t help but joke, although Hosea’s words had made him smile.

“Just marry the kid. So he can’t go anywhere, just like we do with the ladies,” Hosea laughed, loud, patted Oliver’s back, his cigar still held in the corner of his mouth. “Bachelor marriage, isn’t that how they call it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I believe so,” Oliver nodded again, chuckling still - but thinking that, really, Hosea’s idea wasn’t that bad at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You set me on fire,” Oliver murmured against Elio’s throat that night, back in their tents, laying in between the boy’s legs. “You’re so beautiful.”

He let Elio kiss his cheek in response, the side of his neck, his shoulder. He felt the boy’s hands slide down, between his legs; bolder than usual.

“I want to do what you always do for me,” the boy spoke quietly against Oliver’s shoulder, and he didn’t need to add further details, because Oliver understood immediately.

“Fuck, yes, please,” he breathed. He reached down, grabbed one of Elio’s hands and held it tightly, raised it to his own lips to kiss the palm. “Please, baby. I want to be in your mouth.”

He’d lost all restraint and all his reserve, his mind focussed only on one thing now, on how Elio moved as he kissed down his body, on how he held Oliver in his hands while his mouth trailed kisses down on his skin.

Oliver pulled back to lie on his side, and opened his eyes to make sure he could watch that beautiful angel suck him off like a debauched, baby-faced hussy; and Elio looked up through raven eyelashes, smiled, just before his lips touched the place Oliver most wanted him to.

“If I suck you off, will you let me go ride with Sadie?”

“Hmm?” was all that Oliver could come up with, in the haze of arousal he was in.

“Please let me go ride with Sadie. I’ll do whatever you want in exchange.”

Oliver’s brain, clearly, had stopped functioning.

“Yes, yes, fine. Just, don’t stop now. You’ll kill me if you do.”

Yes, his brain was definitely no longer working. And Oliver just vaguely remembered Elio’s radiant smile at his ‘yes, fine’, just vaguely even felt the boy kissing him briefly - all he could remember was how his gorgeous mistress took him in his mouth, swallowed him down; let Oliver pull his hair, hold him down on his sex, until he reached oblivion inside his throat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The day after, the sun shone, and Arthur neighed excitedly.

Next to him, Oliver fixed the stirrups, a frown on his face.

“Just make sure saddle and stirrups are tight. And you’re lighter than me - make sure Arthur doesn’t forget he’s actually carrying someone on his saddle.”

“Arthur won’t forget about me,” Elio smiled, scratched the horse’s neck lovingly. “We will be fine. Won’t we, boy?”

“You have my pocket watch. I want you back in thirty minutes,” Oliver continued. “If you’re not back in time, I will come and find you, and I won’t be happy. Understood?”

Elio smiled, and closed the distance between them, stepping on his tip toes, and placed a kiss on Oliver’s mouth.

“Yes. Understood.”

“Elio!”

Sadie’s voice reached them just as they were separating, as the girl lead her horse over to them. She was smiling.

“Told you that little trick would work, to convince him... ,” she said, winking at Elio, eyes mischievous. She was half serious, half joking, and it was evident, but Oliver still raised his eyebrows towards both, Sadie first and then Elio, piqued.

“I’ll be back on time,” the boy’s smile was wide as he stepped forward and pecked Oliver’s mouth again, before the older man could think of how to reprimand both of them; and then he mounted Arthur, and trotted with Sadie towards the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been doing some research, and it appears that relations between men were more common than we think in 19th century Wild West, due to men being in close proximity for long stretches of time, with only a limited number of women around. Because of these reasons, and because of the fact that the concept of homosexuality and homophobia hadn’t cristallised just yet by then into the meanings we give them nowadays, gay relationships were not a huge deal, and in fact some men even settled down in sort of long term relationships with other men called ‘bachelor marriages’ (which is what Hosea refers to).  
> Fascinating! 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for your comments. Please, keep telling me what you think! If you’ve never commented before, consider letting me know your thoughts... knowing that people are reading makes me want to update faster, and I really appreciate it. I don’t know how many more ways to say this! Haha. 
> 
> Thank you!


	24. The Calm

As Elio had quickly started to learn, whispers around camp meant something was brewing.

A plan, a plot for a mission, bigger than a trip into town to buy necessities or a ride in the woods to hunt.

When Oliver came back to him, late morning, and sat next to him on the logs, kissed him on the mouth without saying anything, but tasting of the rum Albert always had in his tent, Elio made himself ask.

“Is there something going on?”

“Mmmh?” Oliver mumbled, in lieu of a response, busy kissing down Elio’s throat, his shoulder, gently pulling the neck of his shirt aside to reveal bare, delicate skin for his lips.

“Your meeting with Albert and the others,” Elio asked, his hands fisted on Oliver’s shirt. “What’s going on? Are you going somewhere?”

Oliver stopped his ministrations for a moment, cleared his throat.

“Maybe. Think there’ll be a trip into town. To Sunnymesa, tonight.”

“What for?”

Oliver tightened his arm around Elio’s waist, kissed his throat again.

“Mmh. Later.”

“But will you tell me, later?”

Oliver didn’t respond, but the hand on the small of Elio’s back held tighter, his knee pushed harder where it was wedged between Elio’s legs to make him widen his thighs more.

The older man took his lips in another kiss, a bruising one, and Elio knew he wasn’t going to get any response right now, no matter how hard he tried.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He bit his tongue, and let Oliver fuck him then, mostly because he just couldn’t say no, and because he didn’t have any prior experience but god, he did think that no one could ever compete with his man when it came to sex.

It still hurt even after quite a few times they’d slept together, but it hurt in a good way - it hurt because Oliver was strong, and so much bigger than him, and intense, but that didn’t mean Elio wasn’t up for showing him that he could take it, take it all and more.

Just like in their everyday life, outside of their intimacy, Elio gave as good as he got. He bit back for every time Oliver’s teeth sunk into his flesh. He kissed back, opened his mouth, whined loud and demanding until Oliver growled and increased the rhythm and the depth of his thrusts. Elio had learned not to care who could hear them, outside their tent. He’d learned Oliver was his - just as much as he was Oliver’s.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sex was as good a distraction as any. It tired Elio out enough that he napped for a while after, and when he woke up, Oliver wasn’t in the tent with him.

Elio rolled over on the cot, face down on the blankets, and wrapped his arms around his head, wanting to shut out the world outside, at least for a while.

If he pretended nothing was happening, if he stayed in their tent, quiet and patient, then Oliver would return from their mission and it would be like nothing ever even happened. This was being the mistress of an outlaw, after all. Wasn’t it?

Susan didn’t complain, and it’s not like she wasn’t loud and bold when she wanted to be. That was just how life was.

He wished he could fall asleep again, but sleep didn’t come. So he got up, went to the river to wash himself, before the sun fully set and the water turned cold with the night. He fed Rufus, ruffled the shaggy fur on his head.

Then, dog in tow, Elio went in search of Sadie.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What if they don’t come back?” Elio asked, watching Sadie, as she knelt on the ground by the fire, playing a solitary with some old, tattered cards. Rufus whined at her, wagged his tail at the strange game she seemed to be playing, in his eyes.

“Of course they will come back. Why shouldn’t they?” the girl said, still looking down at the cards, and she didn’t seem worried at all.

Elio bit his lip, thick eyebrows knitted in worry and displeasure. Oliver hadn’t told him what the mission was about, so he had to ask.

“Where did they go?”

Sadie looked up then, and hesitated for a moment - as if unsure whether to tell him.

“Sunnymesa. We got wind of a delivery, this carriage carrying a safe, taking some rich people into town. They’re going to go catch it.”

She said it so easily. She looked back down at her cards, and continued.

“I wanted to go, too. But, as usual. Albert said I need to wait. Next time, next time. Wonder when next time is.”

“Will they have to kill people,” Elio made himself ask, quiet.

“Maybe. It’s how it goes. If they get attacked, you know. There’s not much you can do, it’s how things are.”

Elio looked up at her, wide, worried green eyes fixed on the girl before he could stop himself, before he could pretend that he was strong, that he was used to that life by now.

Sadie could say that it wasn’t a big deal and that they would come back, but wasn’t that the reason why she was alone, now? Because they were attacked, because her husband was killed?

“Hey,” she reached out, touched his shoulder, her pretty face changing expression, her eyes concerned as if she’d just realised what she said. “It won’t be the same. Okay? The boys know what they’re doing. Oliver knows what he’s doing.”

Elio nodded, and then looked away, at the dark camp around them, steeling himself for a night alone in their tent while he waited for his lover to return to him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was still dark, outside of their tent, but Elio knew Oliver was back when he felt warmth around him, against him, waking him from his slumber. Muscular arms holding him against the older man’s chest, his stubbly chin against his nape.

Elio was sleepy, but his heart beat faster nonetheless, and if he’d had more energy he would have tried to turn around, to check that Oliver was okay, that he was all in one piece, unhurt. As it was, Oliver held him tight, and Elio just let relief flood his limbs.

“Sadie told me where you went,” he spoke quietly. He heard Oliver breathe deeply against the naked skin of his shoulder.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“And you think that by not telling me, I didn’t worry when I saw that you were gone?”

Elio felt Oliver move behind him, pull up on his elbow and take hold of his chin, making him turn his face towards him. Then, the older man kissed him; holding his face still, pushing deeply inside his mouth with his tongue.

“But you waited for me,” Oliver told him when they parted for air. “You were good. I’m proud of you.”

Elio sighed, and shook his head minutely.

“I don’t want to get used to this. I don’t want to get used to you risking your life. I know this is life at camp, but -“ and he had to stop, and swallow. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He stared at Oliver’s eyes, mouth tight, and the older man held his gaze.

“One day, it won’t be like this. I’m doing it for us. I’m saving up money. One day, we’ll go somewhere, together, we’ll make a life for ourselves.”

The blue of his irises had gone black, like it always did at night, and Elio wasn’t able to look away from them. He sighed again; and then nodded, with a small smile.

He needed to do this. He was terrified, but he needed to do this, he needed to be a good partner for Oliver. He needed to be brave.

“At least, now that you’re here, I can sleep,” Elio whispered, half-lightly, half-seriously.

He turned back around, and Oliver pushed his mouth against Elio’s shoulder, the warm footprint of a kiss from his lips on Elio’s skin.

“Good night, my love,” he murmured softly.

And they soon were asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t forget to leave a comment! Thank you! I read ALL and they all make me smile x


	25. Before the storm

That day had started like any other.

Oliver had gotten up early, kissed Elio’s mouth, reminded him he and Kieran were going to the fence with the carriage, to finally sell the valuables they had piling up in the safe following their recent missions.

Elio had found it difficult to let him go, that day, like he always did, but today perhaps even more, he didn’t know why. He’d held onto Oliver’s shirt with a tight fist, offered up his lips for more kisses - he didn’t care if he seemed needy.

“I’ll be back soon,” Oliver reassured, mouth pressed into Elio’s palm, the echo of a gentleman’s kiss that made Elio’s heart tremble with love.

Elio didn’t know why he’d felt so intensely about Oliver leaving, that morning. He wasn’t even going into a dangerous mission, at all; Elio swallowed, rubbed sleep off his eyes, and decided he would get up since he was now awake anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I want to go to Saint Moran, today. Oliver left Arthur here - I’ll be gone and back before he returns.”

Elio lay over a blanket on the ground, Rufus tottering around him, licking his face, making him laugh. In front of her small mirror, in her tent, Sadie was fixing her blonde hair into a tight bun.

“What do you want to go there for?”, the girl asked, looking at her reflection to check for stray hair.

Elio sighed.

“I wrote a letter to my parents. Oliver took me there to post it to them a few weeks ago. I want to go to the post office, and check if they sent anything back for me.”

Sadie turned to him, smiled.

“I feel like going for a ride. Let’s go.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After the first time Oliver allowed him to go on rides with Arthur on his own, Elio and Sadie had been out a few times. It was always good fun.

So far, they had merely ridden around in the woods, only as far as Lake Ontario and back, never past the border. Saint Moran was going to be the farthest they’d ever been on their own - but it was going to be quick. No wasting time, no strange ideas, no visiting shops or anything of the sort - just checking in by the Post Office, and then riding back in time for Oliver’s return.

Elio held on to Arthur’s mane as he rode, patting his neck affectionately. He loved Arthur.

They arrived in town in good time, and Elio led the both of them to the Post Office. His hands trembled as he dismounted and hitched Arthur at the post outside; he felt so nervous, wondering if there was going to be indeed a letter for him.

And there was.

The clerk handed him a white envelope, Elio’s name written in dark ink on the outside - Elio could instantly recognise his mother’s handwriting, and it brought tears to his eyes before he could even notice.

“Come on. You can read it at home. We should go, now,” Sadie said, still on her horse.

Letter clutched in his trembling hands, Elio nodded.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sky had gone grey, suddenly, threatening rain.

It felt colder than earlier, and Elio held tighter onto Arthur, let the horse follow the road home without much prompting.

They weren’t far away, now - just in a stretch of quiet, deserted open field, one that always held Elio on edge because they had no protection like in the woods, and no one around except the wind and the noise of the gravel under the horses’ hooves.

And when Sadie rode closer to him, one look at her face made Elio’s heart skip a beat.

“Faster, Elio. Let’s go faster,” the girl hissed, kicking her heels on the sides of her mount.

Elio did the same, and looked around, to try and spot the danger that had made Sadie go for urgency.

And there they were.

Four, on black horses, the tell-tale sign of the Mudbrood gang. They were riding behind them, not far, way too close for Elio’s comfort.

He spurred Arthur on, setting his jaw, telling himself to be brave and to keep it together against the insane beating of his heart.

Everything else happened, as if in a dream. 

“Now, now, let’s not make this into a bigger thing that it needs to be,” one of the gangsters hunting them shouted. He was so close, too close now. “Stop now! We have no issues blowing your pretty heads off.”

And to punctuate his words, the man shot to the ground, close to Sadie’s horse, and the animal neighed, bucked up in fear.

“Sadie,” Elio called, as the girl held onto the terrified horse and pulled out her gun - Elio didn’t know she’d brought it along.

“Stay the hell away from us!” Sadie screamed at them - but the man just laughed. The other three had their carabines pointed to Sadie and Elio.

“You see, it’s four of us. And only two of you. A girl, and a young kid,” the man continued, smirking. “Behave, now. If you are good, nothing bad will happen to you.”

Elio held his fist tighter around strands of Arthur’s mane, held himself up on the saddle even though the horse was stomping his hooves in distress. The gang had surrounded them, Sadie’s horse had been forced to stop; Elio couldn’t leave her behind.

“You can tell that story to some other fool,” Sadie growled back, her face a picture of fury. “Leave us alone!”

“Now, don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. It’s not you we want. We’re after the boy,” another one of the men spoke, his voice booming - and Elio’s blood froze in his veins. “You’re useless to us.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say useless!” his colleague sneered, amongst the laughter of the others.

“Nah. We just want the boy. He will bring us the big bucks,” the other man said. He waved the tip of his weapon towards Sadie. “Get off your horse, sweet face. Don’t make it difficult, and we won’t make it painful for ya.”

The other two men made to get closer to Elio, guns pointed at him.

But Sadie screamed.

“Elio. Go, now!”

After that, it was a blur.

The noise of shots fired, horses neighing, the men shouting. Elio screamed for Sadie again, terrified, heart in his throat, looking frantically through the haze of sand raised by the commotion in the hope to see the girl alive, safe. One of the Mudbroods that had tried to go after Elio lay on the ground, dead; the other, barely hanging onto his horse, his shooting hand bloody. The boss of the cohort, the man who’d spoken first, had his gun still trained onto Sadie’s head, and she had her hands up, her weapon no longer in her possession.

And Elio felt his heart stop.

“Leave, now, Elio. Run,” Sadie said again, and her voice trembled.

Elio bit his lip, and when Arthur neighed, jumped into motion, he could only hold on, close his eyes, let the horse take him away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Christ, what happened?”

Hosea’s voice. Hosea, who ran to Arthur, took hold of the frightened animal’s reins and looked up at Elio, who still held tight to the mane and had bitten into his lower lip to the point of making it bleed.

“Miss Tilly, please, call Oliver. Now!” the man frantically ordered.

Elio had his eyes still closed, felt like he couldn’t breathe, and so he didn’t see anything, only heard voices, Tilly’s cry to Oliver, the noise of rushed steps into the gravel. And then, Oliver’s voice.

“What happened?” he was asking, but Elio knew it wasn’t directed at him.

“I don’t know,” Hosea replied. “We just saw him ride back, the horse looks spooked as hell. I don’t know if the kid’s hurt, he hasn’t said a word.”

Elio really, really wanted to make his voice work. He needed to. He needed to help Sadie.

“Sadie,” he tried, throat hoarse. “Sadie. They took her. They did.”

He couldn’t see properly, and he was confused as to why, until he realised his eyes were full of tears.

“Come on. Come here.”

Oliver’s voice was still calm, still controlled. Elio forced himself to blink, and his vision was blurry, but he saw his partner reach out with his hands and so he let himself be taken down from the horse, Oliver’s arms holding him under his shoulders and knees while Elio clung to his neck, face pushed into Oliver’s shoulder.

Without a word, Oliver carried him to their tent. There, he laid him down, looked into his eyes, patted his body carefully for injuries.

Elio couldn’t stop shaking.

“We need to save Sadie, Oliver,” he could only say.

Once again, he forced himself to look up, into Oliver’s eyes - and they were hard.

“Are you hurt? Were you shot - were you assaulted?”

The anger was barely concealed in the older man’s words, and Elio made himself answer quickly.

“No, no, Oliver. I’m - I’m fine. It’s Sadie, she - we need to find her.”

Oliver’s face was still hard, a mask of control, of steel, even as he looked at him, eyes scanning Elio’s whole body for wounds, for injuries, for signs that he was lying about being okay.

He stared for long moments, as if deep in thought, but the worried frown pinching his eyebrows together betrayed his real feelings.

Just as Elio was about to speak again - almost panicking, thinking of Sadie, why was Oliver taking to long to decide? - Albert’s voice, booming, from outside the tent made him jump.

“Oliver!” the old man called.

At first, Oliver didn’t react. He kept his eyes on Elio, now quietly sobbing, and it was as if he hadn’t even heard his boss speak.

The second time Albert called, however, Oliver called back.

“I’ll be out in a moment.”

And then he took a deep breath.

“Do not move from here. For any reason,” he told Elio, before pulling himself up, and leaving the tent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some time to write, and so decided to post another chapter. The plot needs to be pushed along...
> 
> I am really appreciating all your comments. Please keep letting me know what you think about this story. Thank you! X


	26. To be given away

“Sadie’s gone? She was taken?” Albert asked, his face contracted in a mask of barely repressed anger.

Oliver held his gaze.

“So it seems.”

“I told you that kid was going to be trouble,” Albert snarled through his teeth. “I told you he would just bring us problems.”

Oliver schooled his features, refused to be baited by him.

He knew Albert was going to blame Elio. And perhaps it was Elio’s fault, at least partially; but that wasn’t for Albert to decide - not before Oliver had got to the bottom of it all, not before they took care of the more urgent matter of taking Sadie back from the Mudbrood, hopefully unscathed.

Next to them, Susan stood, her hands wrung together, face contracted in worry. She didn’t say anything - and Oliver knew she wouldn’t. Albert was her husband, after all.

“Calm down. Now. There’s no point in laying blame, nothing good’s going to come of it,” Oliver said.

And Albert lifted his chin, his eyes changing, expression full of disdain; he closed the distance between him and Oliver, until he was not but a breath away from him, until he could stare him down.

“Listen to me, boy.” His voice was hard. “I’m the one making decisions, here. I’m the one covering everyone’s asses, I’m the one keeping everyone alive!” He lowered his voice, almost hissed. “We get Sadie back. We get her back, and then you take that child out, into the woods, leave him there as far away from us as possible. Do you hear me?”

Oliver looked into Albert’s eyes. That dark brown, almost black, the colour of charcoal when he was furious. Features rigid with anger, face red, with the effort to give orders instead of taking action, himself, like he wanted to.

Oliver felt anger, himself. Anger at Albert, for his short temper, for having raised him and yet being incapable of understanding what was important to him. Anger at the Mudbroods, anger at the situation.

Anger at Elio.

He set his jaw, and then, without answering, he turned around, and walked away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you going to send me away?”

Elio’s voice was small, feeble. Still trembling, and the boy was curled up in a corner of their tent, eyes red, the face of someone terrified to his core.

Oliver closed his eyes for a moment, and then breathed deep. Walked to his wooden chest and crouched down to open it, pulled out his shotgun. It needed cleaning if he was hoping to use it.

“You can send me away, I’ll understand,” Elio tried again, voice broken by sobs. “Just, just please save Sadie.”

Eyes down on the weapon, Oliver’s hand closed on the cloth he was using to clean it. The gun oil coated his palm, wet and sticky.

“Elio. Stop crying.”

The voice he used, the voice that came out of his chest, shocked him, too.

Severe, implacable. Cutting.

It made Elio hold down a sob, and without even looking at the boy, Oliver could hear that he was trying to conceal his whimpers, trying to keep quiet, as much as he could - trying to obey.

Oliver closed his eyes once more, then trained them back down, onto his gun, finished cleaning it and loaded it with bullets.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t turn towards Elio once. He listened to the silence, to Elio’s barely there breaths, tried to keep his thoughts in order and keep his mind sane, empty, focussed on what needed to be done.

And when the silence was broken by a voice from outside - Kieran, shouting that he’d found a note from the Mudbrood pinned to a tree nearby - Oliver already knew what they were going to be told.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The paper was stained with blood, and the note was scribbled in ink, words misspelled, but reading a very clear message.

 

 

“We’ll keep the girl alive until tomorrow.

 

We want the boy.

 

Girl is yours, when we have him.

 

We’ll bring her to the old Cabot Cove tomorrow at noon.

 

Be there, or she dies.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Albert shouted orders immediately, as it was his custom, assigning roles.

He didn’t mention Oliver, and it was obvious why; Oliver was to head the mission, carrying Elio on the horse, to be delivered to the Mudbrood in exchange for Sadie.

“I’m sorry, friend,” Hosea murmured to him, once Albert’s frenzy had died down, and the man had retired to seethe in his tent. “You know how he is with the Mudbroods. He takes offence, he won’t tolerate any threat from them, even the most ridiculous one - it gets personal. But it’s the first time they have someone from the gang...”

Oliver closed his eyes once again, for a moment. Took a breath, once again.

He didn’t feel like speaking. He didn’t feel like saying that yes, of course he knew.And yes, them having Sadie - it was terrible. Terrifying. It’s what they’d always tried to avoid - no one from the gang should be in danger that way.

And now, because of that, Elio was going to be in danger, himself. He was going to have to walk into the lion’s den, forced by the same gang that welcomed him, that kept him safe until now.

He was going to be given to them by the same man who’d fallen in love with him.

Oliver was angry. Oliver was furious.

His hands pricked, he wanted to go out there, kill all the Mudbroods, their families, burn their camp to the ground.It had always been about turf, it had always been about money, about loot, about gold. Never about people.

And now it was.

“I’m sorry,” Hosea repeated, his face somber, and patted his shoulder lightly before leaving.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver went back to his tent hours after sundown.

The candle was still burning feebly inside, and Oliver walked over, crouched down and put it out with his fingers.

Then, even through the darkness, he allowed himself to look.

Elio was lying on his side. His arms up by his head, covering his face. His hair was messy and unkempt; next to him, a plate of bread and cheese lay, untouched.Oliver moved it out of the way, carefully, and then took off his jacket. He lay down next to Elio on the cot; then, he reached his hand out, palm against the small of Elio’s back, pulled him against himself.

It made the boy stir; and then he woke up, with a gentle jolt at finding himself pressed against his lover’s body, caged in between his arms, Oliver’s mouth pressed against his collarbone.

His body was warm, though still trembling. It felt so frail against Oliver’s own.

The older man pressed his face harder against Elio’s shoulder, smelling the boy’s scent, filling his lungs with it.

He didn’t realise he’d started crying until he felt burning tears on the skin of his face, on Elio’s skin. He didn’t realise he’d been holding his breath, until he needed oxygen to feed his sobs.

He hadn’t cried, in close to twenty years. He wasn’t sure he could remember how.

But as he pressed his face against that young skin that he loved, he felt all his emotions rush back - the only time that happened, the only person who could make it happen, was this kid in his arms, this kid he was terrified for, that he was furious with - that he wanted to protect, still, even though it went against everything he’d been raised to believe, everything he’d been asked to be.

Without uttering a word, Elio’s arms wrapped around his neck, held him against his chest as Oliver’s tears flowed. Elio didn’t say anything; he was being so brave. He was part of Oliver’s heart, having to be given up, having to be given away. And Oliver set his jaw harder, held Elio tighter, refusing to open his eyes until he had to.


	27. Our Last Moments

When Elio woke the next morning, the spot next to him on the cot was empty.

It was a common occurrence - Oliver usually got up really early, but made sure Elio could sleep a few more hours - but today, like a switch, it reminded Elio of what had happened. What was going to happen.

He took a deep breath, and then pulled himself up to sitting, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

He didn’t know how long he’d slept for; but he was still exhausted. Shaky.He was hungry, and yet his stomach refused food.

As he blinked, and looked around in the tent, he saw Oliver. He was there - and Elio wasn’t expecting it; he pulled his knees up against his torso, curled up in to a ball - his eyes already brightening with tears, but he was determined not to cry.

“You should have something to eat,” Oliver said. He wasn’t looking up - wasn’t looking at Elio, but down, at the knife he was sharpening, much like the day before. His voice was flat, listless.

“I’m not hungry,” Elio said. His voice quiet.

He watched, for any reaction from Oliver, any at all; but the man continued his work, his eyes unmoving. 

Elio took a deep breath, and got up from the bed, wrapped his arms around himself, feeling the need for self-protection - and in an attempt to stop the shaking that had taken over his body since the day before, and which seemed to not want to stop.

“Oliver, I -“ he started; waited, but Oliver didn’t look up, so he continued anyway. “I know you’re not talking to me. I know you’re punishing me, and I deserve it - I know I do. But -“ and he swallowed, looked down, fought to maintain his composure. “But I just want you to know that this is the right thing. To give me to them. You need to get Sadie back, she needs to - you need to save her. Please just - make sure she’s okay - and that you don’t get hurt. Please.” The word ended in a sob, and Elio had to stop, take a deep breath, swallow down the tears that wanted to push through. He wanted to obey Oliver, he wanted to be strong - he wasn’t going to cry, even though his chest burned with pain.

“Why did you go to Saint Moran?” Oliver finally spoke. He raised his eyes on the boy - and they were stormy. “Why d’you have to - I told you not to go anywhere without me.”

Elio’s lips pursed with sorrow.

“I wanted - I wanted to see if I had a letter from my parents. And I did - I got it, it’s right there under my pillow. They’re okay. It’s all I wanted to know.”

Oliver was still staring, features hard, and Elio’s hands tightened into fists at the side of his body. “I’m really sorry, Oliver.”

The air between them was thick.

The older man didn’t say anything, for a while. Until Alcyd’s voice called from outside of their tent; it was time to go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Keep this shirt on, over yours,” Susan said, fixing the garment on Elio’s chest. She stroked a strand of the boy’s curls behind his ear. “There. It’s growing back, now.”

From somewhere, and though his eyes were sad, Elio found the strength to smile tightly at Susan. She’d been like a second mother to him. He couldn’t believe he was not going to see her again.

“Enough fussing. We need to go,” Albert’s voice, booming again, as he rode over on his white Arabian horse. “Tie his wrists, and let’s get this over with.”

“I am certainly not going to tie him up. He’s not a prisoner!” Susan’s voice could be just as booming, when she wanted to. 

And again, with a strength he didn’t know he had, Elio looked up at Albert; held his eyes. 

“I’m not going to try to escape. I swear.”

Albert stared back; and then spoke. “You better not, kid.” He turned away, spurred his horse towards the men getting ready nearby.

And only then Elio looked back at Susan.

“You’ll be alright, darling. Do you hear me?” She was frowning, her face contracted in a mask, jaw rigid, her usual expression when something needed to be done but it was unpleasant.

She looked around, and then slipped something into Elio’s back pocket. It was cold, and heavy.

“It’s a pocket knife,” Susan explained, looking up at him - her hazel eyes just as hard as Albert’s, but with a warm fire behind them. “It’s the one I had on me when I was rescued, all those years ago.” She hesitated, then stepped back from him. “Good luck, sweetheart.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Minutes later, and they were ready to go.

On his horse, Albert waited for everyone to mount. Alcyd, Hosea, and Oliver would ride behind him; Albert had agreed to let Elio ride with Oliver, very reluctantly. ‘I’ve always trusted you,’ he’d said to Oliver, ‘don’t make me go change my mind now.’

And then it came, the most difficult moment.

Elio had been able to steel himself until then, harden his eyes, focus all his thoughts on Sadie being okay and nothing else; but now, as Oliver led Arthur towards him, he knew this was it. His last moments with Oliver, with his lover; his last moments with the man he’d fallen for. With a love so strong, that he’d never, ever, in his seventeen years of life,thought he’d experience.

Elio swallowed; looked up at the older man.

Oliver’s eyes were dark. His forehead was creased. His lips were tight.

Elio wasn’t expecting him to speak.

“Listen to me. You do exactly what I tell you to do. Understood? Whoever I tell you to go to, you do it. Is this clear?”

His voice was hard, though hushed; Elio blinked, grit his teeth - ignored the pain in his heart at Oliver’s words.

Oliver was going to deliver him to the Mudbroods. Oliver was making sure he didn’t rebel.

But he wouldn’t; Elio wanted Sadie alive. He wasn’t going to cause problems, not anymore.

“Say that you understand,” Oliver asked again.

Elio didn’t look away.

“Yes. I understand.”

With a nod, Oliver waited for Elio to mount Arthur, and then hoisted himself up, sat behind him on the saddle - and with a kick to Arthur’s sides, he followed the others on their way to the Cove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah... more angst!! 
> 
> Thank you for reading and for commenting so far. I love reading your thoughts and I’m so honoured you’re liking this story. 
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter too - I will update really soon, you know that. X


	28. Colm

Elio’s mind was strangely empty as they rode towards the cove - and it astounded him, too. It was incredible what the brain could do when in dangerous situations. Elio could not think of anything, beyond what was about to happen - what he needed to do.

Their destination wasn’t far, and when they arrived, their horses neighing, ears rigid, listening - at first, it seemed like no one was there.

But then, they saw her. Sadie.

Tied to the trunk of a tree, a black cloth covering her mouth and tied behind her head - her hair matted and dirty, her face smeared with blood.

But she was still alive; and Elio’s heart gave a jump.

“Keep quiet,” Oliver murmured into his ear. “Whatever happens. Don’t make a sound.”

“Well, we’re here now,” Albert called to the empty clearing in front of them. “Don’t make me waste even more time - come out of the bushes you’re hiding in, you cowards!”

There was no movement for a few, long moments. Behind Elio, on the horse, Oliver sat, as still as a statue.

Only Sadie moved; she raised her head, looked at them. Determination still gleamed in her eyes, and Elio wished he could run to her, cut her free.

The noise of crackling leaves on the ground made him look back to the clearing, and that’s when he saw five men - standing there, as if they’d appeared out of nowhere. They all had long beards, long hair, looked dirty, faces red as if they spent the whole time drinking and brawling.

They were so familiar - and Elio wanted to tremble, but he made himself stay still, stiff, his face betraying no emotion.

“So kind of you to turn up. We didn’t think you gave a fuck about the girl,” the man at the front sneered, the others laughing at his words. “But you see? We’re kind too. She’s alive and well, just like we promised.”

“Oh Colm, just cut the bullshit,” Albert responded. His hand was on the gun in his belt, mirroring the Mudbroods, all stood in the same position, weapons well in sight. “Let her go. I’ve better shit to do than to chitchat with you and your band of coyotes.”

“Sure. Sure, friend. Here, we’ll give you the pretty girl. See? And while we do that, how about you give us the boy. I think that will save us all a lot of time.”

He didn’t move as he spoke. His comrades walked over to Sadie, pulled her up - but her hands were still tied behind her back, and they didn’t make any move to cut the binds.

Colm didn’t move, and the smirk was still on his face, as if he was having the time of his life.

“Oliver,” Albert called, without even turning back to look at them.

Without a word, Oliver dismounted, and then offered his hands for Elio to take, helped him down too.

“Aw, look at that. Isn’t that romantic?” Colm sneered again, the rest of his men sniggering behind him. “I heard of your little love trip back in Saint Moran. Even the priest saw you. Careful, or you’ll go to hell.”

Elio bit his lip, told himself he needed to stay strong - but the truth was, Colm was terrifying. So they’d been tracking them; they had spies, they’d known where he was since he and Oliver went to Saint Moran.

Elio pushed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, to stop them from shaking; he desperately, desperately wished he could use the knife that was hidden there.

“I don’t know about them,” Albert spoke again, “but I’d be very happy to send you to hell myself, right now. Stop talking, goddamnit!”

“Alright, alright,” Colm raised his hands, sneer still pulling at his lips, revealing his yellow teeth. He gestured for Sadie to walk over. “Come on, darling, see how impatient they are to have you back, and to give us that boy!”

Sadie walked slowly, hands bound behind her back, still gagged- the eyes of the Mudbrood fixed on her. She didn’t tremble once - and Elio would have been so in awe, if he wasn’t terrified to the core.

He took a few tentative steps, trying not to think - trying to forget that he was leaving Oliver, that he was not going to see him again, that he was going to go back to his captors - and Colm’s crooked smile returned.

“Ah, kid. Don’t be scared now. They call me Colm The Gentle, you know?” He laughed. “I treat all my prisoners gently. I’ve only hurt - one or two of them,” and his gang roared with laughter around him.

Elio swallowed. Refused to lower his eyes; grit his teeth.

Sadie was so close, and he wished he could hug her. He couldn’t.

He had to do this.

Before he could take another step, though, a gunshot teared the air. The noise searing; and so sudden.

Elio wanted to close his eyes, he didn’t want to see - let them kill him, but he didn’t want to see anyone from his gang hurt, he didn’t want to think of that shot being for Oliver.

But he looked ahead - and saw one of the Mudbroods lying on the ground. Dead.

More gunshots followed - screams, coming from both factions, Albert, Colm. Horses neighing.

Elio looked towards Sadie, and suddenly, he knew what he had to do. He rushed to her, pulled out his pocket knife, cut the ties that bound her wrists. 

“Come on!” Sadie screamed the moment she pulled off her gag. She grabbed his arm, and they ran back to the others - and Elio’s eyes searched for Oliver, desperately.

His lover was with him in a moment.

“Go with Alcyd,” he told Elio, frantic, breathing hard. Elio looked up at him, not understanding; and Oliver spoke again, his voice raised. “Go, now!”

Whatever happened after, it was a blur.

Elio tried to keep his eyes on Oliver but Alcyd had grabbed his arm, ‘Come on, Elio, we need to go,’ jumped on his horse, pulled Elio up with him.

Elio only had the time to claw at Alcyd’s jacket so that he wouldn’t be thrown off the mount, and then the man’s horse set off, fast like lighting, towards the woods, away from where gunshots and screams were still raging, until they were all but a faint murmur far away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio didn’t know how long they’d ridden for.

But when Alcyd finally pulled Buell’s reins and slowed him down to a trot, the sun had started to set.

“Where are we?” Elio asked - had to try a couple of times, his voice was so hoarse.

“I’ll show you in a moment. We’re nearly there.”

And they were. Less than a mile later, after climbing the side of a hill and then back down, they reached a lowland, and continued on along a path - until a cottage appeared. Surrounded by pine trees, tiny and old. But all in one piece.

It had a roof, and brick walls. The door was ruined, but not rotten, still functioning.

It even had a fence around it, the wood eaten up by the weather, but still there.

“What is this?” Elio asked, as Alcyd dismounted.

“This is Hillside House. Not a very imaginative name, granted - but it wasn’t Oliver who chose it.”

Elio frowned; dismounted as well, hugged his arms around himself, lost.

“Why are we here?”

Alcyd hitched Buell on on a post nearby; and then sighed.

“This place’s empty - Oliver found it months ago. Always kept it a secret, because it’s too small for the whole gang, too far from Albert’s turf. You and him will stay here for a while, kid.”

Elio’s eyes widened in disbelief. He felt so confused, so out of it - as if so many things were happening, life was turning itself upside down, and all he could do was watch and do nothing else.

“What - I...”

“He’ll be here, soon, I hope. We planned this - it was the only thing that could be done. The gang needs to find a new camp - and you two need to lay low. Hide. And not just from those bastard Mudbroods.”

Elio blinked, speechless. His heart was still drumming against his rib cage; he felt like it hadn’t slowed down for hours.

But Oliver was going to be there. Oliver was coming back to him.

If he was okay. If he survived the shootout.

“Come, now. Let’s have a look at this kiddie hut you’ve got here,” Alcyd said, with a smile, walked towards the door. 

Elio hesitated; then followed Alcyd, still hugging himself - against the chill of the evening, and the emotions of the day.

He hoped with all of himself that Oliver was okay. He wanted to see him, more than he’d wanted anything, ever, in his life.


	29. Hillside House

Oliver rode through the night. The cold air kept him awake, vigil, as he spurred the horse on from the seat of the carriage, reins in hand.

He had a wagon, and a different horse pulling it - a burnt-red American Saddlebred that belonged to the Mudbroods until a few hours before. Arthur followed behind, always the faithful steed.

Oliver had tried to be as quick as possible - but Hillside House was quite a distance away. He couldn’t wait to get there.

 

Finally, just before dawn, as the sun was still hiding behind the horizon, finally; the horse pulled up the side of the hill, down the dirt path on the other side. Oliver stopped the carriage just by the clearing, and then climbed down. He felt so exhausted, but also, so impatient.

No matter his eagerness, though, he still looked around himself, around the house and behind, checked for anything that may seem unusual, anything that may alert him of danger.

A noise from the house, however, brought his attention back to the cottage - and there, Elio now stood. Just outside the door, eyes wide, just a murmur coming out of his mouth as he looked at the older man as if in shock.

“Oliver.”

Oliver’s lips just had the short span of a couple of moments to stretch into a feeble smile, that Elio had already run to him, thrown his arms around Oliver’s neck, squeezed himself to him, standing on tiptoes and almost swept off his feet.

“Oliver. Oliver, Oliver,” the boy kept repeating, against Oliver’s neck.

And Oliver held him, tight in his arms, fingers plunged into Elio’s ruffled curls.

God - it was such a relief. Such a relief.

To have him there, to touch him and to feel him in flesh and blood, warm, unhurt, still his.

Oliver felt like holding him even tighter, felt like squeezing the breath out of him, to have him become a part of his own body.

Elio pulled back for a moment, to look up at him, and Oliver only allowed it because he wanted to kiss him - he wanted to kiss him so badly.

And he did.

Elio moaned softly and opened his mouth, and Oliver pushed even deeper into the kiss - god, how he’d missed him.

“I only let him come out because I knew it was you, I swear.”

Alcyd’s voice made them separate, and Oliver smiled when he saw the old man come out of the cottage, scratching his head, a half-yawn still imprinted on his face - he’d obviously been asleep until a second ago.

“I believe you,” Oliver lied, laughed affectionately.

Elio’s voice made him look back down on the boy.

“Are you okay?”

He was frowning, his pale, delicate face contracted in worry, the corners of his eyes slanted down as he asked.

His lips were stained with red; and Oliver only then realised it had come from his own mouth, when Elio’s thumb stroked his skin carefully.

“I’m okay,” Oliver reassured, trying to sound firm. Elio’s eyes were still disbelieving, but the boy pushed up on tiptoes again, pushed his mouth against Oliver’s mouth - kissing and licking the blood away, making Oliver growl at the taste of his blood shared on their tongues.

“Is Sadie okay? Is everyone okay?” Elio asked when they ended the kiss, his eyes still wide, almost as if they were begging Oliver to give him good news.

“Sadie’s fine. She’s made of steel, you know that. And - everyone else is also okay.” He’d hesitated a moment, considering how much to tell him. Deciding they would talk later. For now, they needed to go inside - his anxiety wanting Elio hidden away until he knew there was no urgent danger any more.

But then a whimper from the carriage made Elio’s eyes go round, and Oliver swore he could actually see the boy’s ears perking up.

“What - Oliver? What’s that noise?”

“Maybe you should go see for yourself,” Oliver smiled, chuckled as Elio didn’t wait for him to tell him twice. The boy ran to the wagon and returned a moment later, an armful of over-excited puppy with him, Elio’s voice full of awe as he repeated Rufus’s name over and over again.

“You brought him! You brought him. I missed him so much,” Elio said, laughed as Rufus licked all over his face.

Smiling properly for the first time in days, Oliver placed a hand on the small of the boy’s back, nudged him towards the house.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“See, it’s not bad,” Elio said, gesturing to the room that made up the entire inside of the cottage. “The fireplace works, and there’s even a grill to cook stuff on. Kind of like a barbecue.”

He was right - the place was in good shape. Almost a luxury, compared to their last few abodes, given that this one had working doors and windows with intact glass panes.

Of course, it was old. The upholstery was ruined in places, the wooden floor eaten up in spots by time and neglect. There was damp on the corners of the ceiling, but the roof held up and would be a good cover for the rain. Water for cooking and cleaning was going to be provided by the nearby lake; and there was space in the terrain outside for them to grow plants and herbs.

“We’ll need to get a bigger bed,” Oliver murmured, nodding towards the makeshift mattress on the floor - his eyes gleaming with mischief. Elio smiled lightly, bit his lower lip - and Oliver couldn’t help but reach down and kiss his mouth again.

The way that Elio submitted to him - the way he wrapped his arm around Oliver’s neck, opened his mouth, let Oliver pull his body against the older man’s - made Oliver’s loins burn with desire.

It had been too long.

“I will make myself scarce, again.”

Alcyd’s voice came to his ears just in time and Oliver smiled into his kiss with his young mistress, and almost wanted to full out laugh at Alcyd’s repeated misfortune. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, friend,” he said, separating from Elio to walk over to Alcyd and pat him in the back. He felt horrible but he didn’t want to suggest for him to stay any longer - he really needed to be alone with Elio.

“Oh, don’t you mention it,” Alcyd rolled his eyes, but he was amused. “It’s time for me to ride back to the others, anyway. Hope I’ll find them - Albert’s probably going berserk right about now.”

Oliver nodded, his lips pursed. He didn’t like the idea of Albert being upset - but there was nothing to be done about it now, anyway.

With a pat to his back, and a mutually whispered good luck, Alcyd left them alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio’s lips were soft and turgid and Oliver intended to enjoy them to the full - but at the same time, his groin almost had a life of its own, his sex wanting to be held in the cradle of the boy’s hips, between his legs, craving skin against skin.

Oliver had brought back blankets, and thrown one hurriedly on the cot, Elio laying there, naked, all but a few minutes later.

Oliver knew they had to talk, knew so many things had happened and there was so much they needed to tell each other, explain, settle. He wanted to make the boypromise, over his own life, that he’d never put himself in danger like that again. Swear that he’d be careful and wise, and if that meant him having to always obey Oliver and follow his guidance, then so be it - he was his mistress, he was his, after all.

But instead, Oliver already had three fingers inside him, was watching him writhe on the bed, beauty and perdition personified - debauchery in the flesh. Oliver was still clothed, and that made it even filthier, and Oliver revelled in it - until Elio growled softly and pulled Oliver down, bit his lower lip, and the taste of blood passed from one to the other again. And Oliver was reminded that he belonged to Elio, body and soul, just as much as Elio belonged to him. 

“Take your clothes off?” Elio begged softly. “Please.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. And once Oliver divested himself of his trousers and top, once he lay on top of his lover, skin against that delicate, pale smooth skin, Oliver had completely lost his mind.

“I want to fuck you so hard,” he growled against Elio’s throat, and he had no shame, and he felt Elio shiver against him for a long moment.

Oliver could not wait to be inside him, and he wanted to do just what he promised - and so he held Elio’s left thigh up, made space, and then thrust in, all the way in, with a grunt that was animalistic, but he didn’t care.

Elio cried out, his fingernails clawing at Oliver’s shoulders - a little discomfort, a tit-for-tat for the pain of having Oliver inside so deep, so soon.

“Open your eyes. Look at me,” Oliver ordered, as he held Elio steady with a hand behind his head, cushioning his thrusts, the other holding Elio’s hip as he fucked him.

Elio obeyed, and held his gaze, his mouth open and the both of them breathing desperately on each other’s mouths.

“Harder?” Oliver asked, eyes into Elio’s eyes - hoping, waiting for a yes, please, say yes.

And Elio nodded, and Oliver watched him close his eyes as the older man’s hips snapped against him, so hard he thought Elio might break, but knew he wouldn’t.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They kissed, slow and lazy, for a long time after they’d both come.

Oliver was reluctant to leave his lover’s body, and so he stayed in him for as long as he could. The birds had started chirping, the rays of sun filtering through the windows now that it was almost full morning; they could hear Rufus’s yelps outside as the dog barked at one thing or the other. But Oliver couldn’t make himself separate from Elio.

“Can we sleep a little?” Elio asked, voice rough with overuse because of how much Oliver’d made him cry out. “I know we have to talk. But I’m so tired, just now.”

His eyes were half closed, his curls messy - he was pouting.Oliver knew they did need to talk, but he couldn’t make himself say no.

“Only if I can stay inside you,” he murmured, one last flicker of obscenity in his words before it was all over. And Elio nodded against his face, his eyes now completely closed, breathing slowing down more and more until he was asleep - Oliver following moments after.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio’s hair smelled of him, warm and heady, as Oliver pushed his nose and mouth against it, holding Elio in bed.

His hand was on Elio’s tummy, his fingers spread wide, gently stroking, almost covering the whole of it.

“I’m sorry I was an idiot,” Elio murmured softly, with a sigh. “I’m sorry I put everyone in danger.”

Oliver nudged him to turn and lie on his back so that he could see his face.

“It’s all right. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Elio sighed again. “You know it’s not. Sadie was taken, and everyone else risked so much - and now you’ve had to leave them.”

“It was going to happen, one way or another,” Oliver said. “Granted, you should have done as I said. But the important thing is that you’re here and you’re okay. Sadie is okay.” He pursed his lips, stroked a curl back from Elio’s forehead. “Albert is a whole different matter. He and I - we were going to clash. It couldn’t be avoided.”

Elio turned his face to him.

“I’m sorry.” 

He was pouting, again - an involuntary habit, it seemed, and it was endearing to see. Oliver smiled lightly, his hand back to cover Elio’s abdomen.

“What did your mother say? In the letter?”

He hadn’t asked yet, and needed to.

Elio’s green eyes glittered as he replied.

“She said she was happy to hear I’m okay, of course. That she hopes one day I can tell her where I am and who with, that she hopes we can reunite. She said she, my dad and Mafalda are moving out of the villa and going somewhere else for a while where the gang can’t find them, it’s too dangerous for them to just stay put.” His hand covered Oliver’s on his tummy. “I’ll let you read it.”

Oliver nodded, and kissed Elio’s shoulder.

“It’ll be okay,” he promised, hoping Elio would believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dear CosmicFragments flagged to me that Timothee loves Red Dead Redemption (the game this fic is inspired by) and actually talked about the game in a video! 
> 
> You can watch it here: https://youtu.be/rTSEbXdJbv4
> 
> I’m amazed! Haha :) x


	30. What Happened

Oliver woke to the sound of quiet laughter next to him.

Blinking sleep out of his eyes, rubbing a hand down his face - which reminded him of the stubble that had been growing on his jaw and lip for a few days - Oliver turned around to see Elio on the bed, his arm around Rufus’s small, furry body, the puppy wagging his tail excitedly and licking Elio’s face.

“Baby, we said no to the dog on our bed,” Oliver grumbled, still struggling to open his eyes properly. God, he was exhausted.

Rufus barked, wagged his tail faster, not caring about anything aside of the excitement of being with Elio again.

“Aw, Oliver. But look at him!”the boy smiled, let the dog lick his hand, too. “Only for now. When we have our real bed I won’t let Rufus on it.”

Oliver could not help but smile, despite himself. It was good to see Elio laugh - so carefree, finally showing his youth, the innocence he had to fight against in the weeks of worry and tension he’d had to endure.

Oliver could not resist, and so he reached over, nudged Elio’s face gently back towards him; pushed closer to kiss him.

Elio responded immediately, of course, his lips and tongue moving softly and licking back at Oliver’s lips and tongue, and Oliver scooted closer and pulled himself up over the boy, arms at either side of his head. He suddenly was very, very awake - suddenly plunged into a wave of desire and arousal that made him fully hard against Elio’s belly.

The boy parted his legs straight away, accommodating him in the cradle of his hips, and Oliver growled.

“Mmmh. Time to go outside, Rufus,” Oliver said, nudging the dog off the bed, his voice husky, deep; his eyes on fire.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And Oliver thought about forcing Elio to keep his eyes open while he fucked him - Elio’s eyes drove Oliver to insanity, especially when they were unfocused, clouded with arousal, struggling to stay open with every thrust - but decided to kiss the boy instead, tongue plunged deep inside his mouth while Oliver moved above him slowly, drawing out his pleasure for as long as it would stretch.

“Say that you’re mine,” Oliver demanded.

Elio responded, without missing a beat, even though he was breathless.

“I’m yours. I’m yours.”

His body was hot, and tight, and young and responsive, and Oliver was addicted, and he pushed his mouth against Elio’s throat to stop himself from whining like a wounded animal, like the slave to sensation that this boy had turned him into. He bit Elio’s skin gently, snapped his hips forward, and concentrated on making Elio come first, only relenting when the boy whimpered and shivered.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And when finally, finally Oliver managed to pull himself up from bed, it was close to midday. The lack of sleep in recent hours had definitely caught up with him.

He stood, dressed in worn shirt and pants. Elio wasn’t in the room. Oliver stopped, listened; he heard his voice from outside, Rufus’s name being called.

“Hey,” Elio smiled up at him when Oliver stepped out, from his spot on the ground where he and Rufus were playing.

Oliver sighed; pursed his lips.

“Come back inside, Elio.”

Elio looked up, his expressive eyes filled with confusion.

“What? Why?”

“Do as I say. Please,” Oliver insisted, his hand out for Elio to take, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Still looking confused, Elio stood, and followed Oliver inside.

“Oliver, what...?”he started - but Oliver interrupted him.

“You shouldn’t be outside. Especially not when I’m not there.”

He tried to keep his voice calm; he wasn’t trying to start an argument. But Elio was frowning, his jaw rigid as he stood by the door, looking at Oliver with a piqued expression.

“Why not?”

“How can you ask?” Oliver checked his voice, took a breath. “I want you inside the house until I know that there’s no danger, and that none of those fuckers are hiding out there waiting on the best moment to get their hands on you.”

It was something he’d been thinking of, ever since he’d started considering Hillside House as a possible hideout for Elio and himself. They just needed to be extra careful, it was just the price they had to pay. He wished he had more time to tell Elio, to explain properly, but here they were - and they needed to make it work.

“So - so I can never go out? I need to stay locked in here?” Elio asked. “I thought we were far enough that - I thought this was safe!”

“It’s safer than we were, but - didn’t you see? You can never be safe enough!” Oliver’s voice was raised, and he was finding it hard to control it even though he knew he should.

He looked at the boy, as Elio stood, arms by his sides, frown in place and eyes that gleamed. Oliver held his gaze, expecting a rebuttal, expecting a protest; but Elio just looked away for a moment, and then turned back - eyes hard.

“When will you tell me what happened?” Elio’s voice was quiet. “After Alcyd took me away? Hmm? Or is that another one of those things I’m supposed to be kept in the dark about?”

“I’m not going to tell you, for you to feel even worse,” Oliver said, his voice firm. Elio had already blamed himself enough for what happened with Sadie, for the shoot out, for the gang risking their life for him.

“What does that even mean?” Elio shook his head, and his eyes were bright now, his cheeks red with the effort to keep his emotions in check. “Is Sadie okay? You said that she was - did you lie?”

It was a moment, one single moment, and Oliver closed the distance between them, seized Elio’s arms and shook him, lightly, but his hands closed like a vice around the boy’s flesh - made him flinch.

“I would never lie to you.” He looked into Elio’s scared eyes, looked away. Let him go. “Sadie is okay. It’s not her.”

“Then who is it.” Elio’s voice was tentative, quiet - no more than a murmur. His eyes were red.

Oliver took a breath; defeated.

He walked over to the bed, sat down on it, over the blankets still haphazardly thrown over it after their earlier lovemaking.

“Hosea’s dead.”

His voice was quiet, flat. He let the news sink in; didn’t look up, but he knew that Elio’s eyes had gone wide, his face pale.

He continued.

“Colm shot him, and then ran - and I had one of the others on me, noticed too late.” He sighed. “Sadie went after him, of course, but she was on foot, and injured. Albert - Albert had disappeared, by then. I guess I’ve always felt he and Colm had something in common. And it seems I was right.”

He looked up then, at Elio, who still stood a few steps away - a tear streaking his cheek now, one that he hadn’t managed to conceal.

Oliver’s eyes were clear, calm. After Hosea’s death, after Albert fleeing, he’d kept his wits about him - knew that he had to. He’d run back to camp with Sadie, taken his stuff and Rufus, gone to find Elio and Alcyd as per his plan. Sadie had stayed behind with the others, packing stuff to move to their next hideout - furious, repeating that she’d give Albert a piece of her mind as soon as she saw him.

Oliver knew what happened was not Albert’s plan. Albert’s plan had been to give Elio back to the Mudbroods - he didn’t care about him. He wanted the Mudbroods off his back - but now, with four of them dead, Colm back to his gang, they were surely plotting revenge. The feud had been reignited tenfold.

And Oliver had been careful, covered his tracks as much as possible, rode at night on a carriage with a different horse, his face covered - but there was no guarantee, and he wasn’t going to take a risk with Elio’s life.

And he couldn’t even trust Albert. He was a vengeful man. He was unpredictable.

Slowly, Elio padded closer. Then sat down, next to Oliver on the cot, in silence.

Oliver turned to him, sighed again; and then cupped the boy’s face, lifted it so that he would look into Oliver’s eyes.

“I’m not going to let that happen to you. To us.” His voice was hard, but his thumb stroked Elio’s wet cheek, so, so light. “We need to be careful. For a while longer.”

And Elio gazed back, and then nodded, eyes sad; finally exhaling, as if he’d been holding his breath until then.


	31. Two Spirits

It was early in the morning, but Elio was awake. He had been unable to sleep any later than dawn for the past few days.

He still lay in bed; thinking. The rough, woollen blanket covered his naked body, and he wasn’t cold. They were lucky - they had a wood stove in the cottage which still worked fine, alongside the small fireplace - but that couldn’t be left going for the whole night, of course, with the house being made of wood as well as brick. Oliver usually got up a few hours before dawn and placed coal in the stove, set it to burn, slow, very slow, and then came back to bed.

After so many weeks in the woods, in tents, a wood stove was a real luxury.

Elio looked up, at the ceiling, and then down his body at Oliver’s muscular arm thrown over his waist as he slept.

Gently, very gently, absentmindedly, Elio ran the tips of his fingers over Oliver’s arm. Up, following the lines of his skin, its hairy surface, until he reached his wrist, then the back of his hand; and then back again, over his wrist, his arm, stopping just before the elbow, a light, barely there caress.

Elio looked around himself, quiet, waiting for Oliver to wake; and thinking.

It had been a few days since they settled into Hillside House. Their modest lodging, their tiny tiny cabin, which nonetheless felt like a real home more than anywhere they’d been recently.

They had little money and very limited resources, at least for the moment, and so they had to make do. Their bed was, probably, the most luxurious piece of furniture so far: Oliver had built them a bed frame using the wood from the old fence outside the cottage - it had mostly been destroyed by age and animals, and so it no longer worked as a fence itself, but the wood could still be utilized for alternative purposes.

Elio had watched in awe at Oliver’s ability to use a hammer and nails quickly and efficiently; had offered to help where he could. A day later they had a new bed frame, a bed roll on top of it, and small pillows made out of feathers from finches and kinglets Oliver had caught in the woods, the meat from which they had cooked over the stove and eaten over the next few days.

The few clothes they had hung over the wood stove, drying.

They washed them almost every night - Elio insisted on it. Every evening, when Oliver brought back buckets of water from the lake, they washed in them, then washed their clothes, trying to make them as clean as possible even though they were missing soap and starch to complete the job. Oliver had promised he would buy both in his next trip to the nearby town, once he had enough pelts and game to sell.

The rest of the house was pretty bare and empty, aside from iron hooks on the wall for hanging clothes and utensils, and aside from a very limited set of cookware that had been left behind (a pot, a few spoons, a couple of knives; wine cups). They’d found a few cans of vegetables and fruit which were still edible. Elio dreamt of bread, milk; cheese. Chocolate.

He didn’t allow himself to miss them - he knew how privileged he’d been to have them, to have all of that, available to him all his life until he left home; but he let himself dream.

Next to him, Oliver stirred, almost imperceptibly, breathed softly.Elio turned to him, checking his face for signs that he was waking up - but the older man didn’t move again, his breathing still slow and regular.

Elio turned back on the pillow - his hand still on Oliver’s arm - and decided to dream a little more.

He dreamt of lots of blankets, and nice soft pillows for their bed. A blanket for Rufus, too, or a little fluffy rug for him to sleep on to.

He thought of the vegetables they could plant outside. In the little garden they could create in the clearing, that they could build a fence around to prevent deer and other wild creatures from eating it all away.

What would they grow?

Potatoes. Beans. Strawberries and blueberries. Herbs, chicory and sage.

Flour was something else they should remember to buy - Elio could try and bake something on the stove, a berry pie or a cobbler, he’d watched Mafalda make them so many times he felt like he would remember the recipes.

And then, Oliver had said they’d get hens for the eggs, maybe. If they found the place was safe, if they thought it was okay for them to settle down a little more permanently.

Elio was still not allowed outside on his own.

He walked to the lake with Oliver, the both of them covering their faces with cloths, to wash, in the morning and at night. But apart from that, Oliver didn’t want him out - and Elio had done what he was told. He did not intend to cause any more problems. He didn’t want to risk someone seeing him, because that would mean they’d try to kidnap him again, attack Oliver, hurt him, or worse. Elio couldn’t even bear the thought.

Next to him, Oliver stirred again. Elio felt the tickle of Oliver’s stubble on his shoulder, and smiled, turned to look at him.

“Hey. You’re awake,” Elio murmured. Oliver closed his eyes again for a moment, rubbed his mouth on Elio’s skin.

“Mmmh. Good morning.”

He looked so good, even still half-asleep - perhaps especially now, as unkempt as he was, with tousled hair, his skin warm and smelling heady of him. Elio nuzzled the side of his neck, let Oliver’s arm tighten around his waist to pull Elio back against his body.

“Are you warm enough?”

Elio loved how attentive Oliver was. How he always looked after him, checked in, tried to provide for him as much as he could.

“Yeah,” Elio whispered, turning fully on his side to face his older lover. He closed his eyes, let that little moment of happiness fill his chest. “Yeah. I feel safe.”

“Good.”

Oliver kissed him, nudged him to lie on his back. Climbed on top of him and Elio let him, wrapped his arms around his neck, his fingers plunged deep into Oliver’s blonde hair, and more than happy to indulge in a bit of slow, lazy lovemaking to start the day. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After washing themselves and getting dressed, they ate - a bowl of oatmeal with canned fruit - and then Oliver started getting ready.

He hitched Lady, their new horse, to the wagon. He packed a tin of canned vegetables for the road, and Elio made sure he had his warm jacket and scarf to take with him.

And then, before he left, Oliver crowded Elio up against the wall, kissed him deeply as a goodbye.

Elio moaned inside his mouth - his loins warming up every time Oliver was close, damn him, he’d become as lustful as a dog in heat. He loved that he had to look up, lift his chin to let Oliver kiss him, he loved that Oliver was so much taller, bigger than him.

“I’ll be back just after sundown. Hopefully no later than that,” Oliver told him, his lips so close to Elio’s, his eyes in Elio’s eyes. “Don’t leave the house, for any reason. Don’t open the door. Stay inside. Understood?”

Elio held his gaze, nodded.Of course he was going to obey.

“Yes. Understood.”

“Good.” Oliver nodded. He kissed Elio again - Elio wished Oliver didn’t have to go, but he knew it had to be done. They needed supplies.

And then Oliver pulled back from him, opened the door and called for Rufus to come back inside - the dog running over, tail wagging, tongue out.

“Be safe. I’ll see you soon.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rufus had spent some more time playing inside - Elio had made him a ball out of old cloths, and Rufus barked after it, growled clumsily when he finally managed to seize it and chew it in his little fangs.

They’d found an old corn broom in the cabin, and Elio swiped the floor for a while to keep himself busy, and because he liked his living spaces to be tidy and clean - oh, if only Mafalda could see him now, after spending most of Elio’s childhood having to scream at him to clean up after himself.

Elio curled up next to the fireplace to read -Oliver had brought him his books, and it was such a blessing. He pulled Rufus over to him, on his lap, hugged him to himself when the sky started to darken, and the wind began to make noises like a witches’s screams outside their window.

Elio would not be scared; he’d been through real danger, now. The moaning wind was not going to frighten him any more.

He wanted to nap a little, but he was too nervous to do so. And so he pulled up, looked around the place. Tried to guess who’d lived there before, what their lives must have been like.

Was it a lonely man? Was it two newlyweds, perhaps on honeymoon? Was it a married couple, the lady of the house pregnant with child?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know who they were. He didn’t know what had happened to them.

But his musings took him back to the others from the gang, and he wondered what they were doing, if they were okay. Susan, Miss Tilly, Alcyd, and the rest. He wondered how Sadie was faring.

He missed her a lot.

Sighing, he decided to quit his reminiscing. Rufus had been barking again, wanting to play, excitement all over his young puppy face every time Elio looked at him. And so the boy sat down, let the dog lick his face, and grabbed his makeshift toy again for one more game of tug of war.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio had been dozing off, an exhausted Rufus sleeping in his arms, when he heard the noise of the wagon coming to a halt outside.

He remained still, watching Rufus for any sign of agitation, and when he saw none he knew it was indeed Oliver who’d finally come back. He waited inside, determined to obey his requests, until Oliver opened the door himself, his arms holding two big canvas bags which he dropped gently on the floor.

“How did it go,” Elio asked, standing up and going over to him. Oliver kissed his cheek. He smelled sweaty, warm; he smelled good.

“Very well. Got us quite a lot of provisions. There’s coffee, even - we can finally use that old percolator we have. And I got some chocolate for you, some oatcakes, crackers. We’ll be good for a while.”

Elio smiled, his eyes shining excitedly, and crouched down, opening the bags to look.

“And you got us seeds!” he said, elation in his voice. “I can’t wait to have our own garden.”

There was quite a lot in there - including medicines, numbing powders and pills for the pain, flour, oil, sugar. Oliver must have been able to trade in the jewellery they’d taken from the Mudbroods and their other expeditions, as well as using the money he already had.

Elio was excited, and couldn’t wait to start arranging everything into their own, personal little larder.

“Elio. Come here.”

Oliver’s voice made him look up, and he saw his lover stood a few feet away, looking at him.

It didn’t seem like anything was wrong, Oliver had a half smile on his face - and so Elio stood, padded towards him.

“Yes?”

He watched, as Oliver took his hand, pulled him closer to him.

“In my visit to the town, today,” Oliver started, twined his fingers with Elio’s, held his hand. “I saw a shop. A jeweller. I thought I’d trade in the silver we had, get some money for it. But then, I saw these.”

He took a breath, and pulled a little velvet bag out of the pocket of his trousers.

Elio watched; confused. What did Oliver find?

“I knew someone, once,” Oliver continued - his voice a murmur. “An Indian, Navajo. He told me - in his tribe, someone’s spirit, their character, is what matters. And so, you marry a person, not their gender.”

His eyes lifted from where they were looking at the little pouch in his hand, to hold Elio’s wide, uncomprehending ones.

“I think they are right. I think a man may love who he wants to love. And I love you. And I want to marry you.”

His hands didn’t tremble as he opened the bag, pulled out two silver rings, a larger one and one that was narrower.

Elio watched: shocked, speechless. His heart going wild in his chest.

Oliver smiled, his eyes shy, but gleaming.

“I love you, and I want to be with you. If you’ll have me.”

He took the smaller band, lifted Elio’s hand; pulled it around his ring finger.

“Oh my god, Oliver,” Elio could only babble. He looked at the ring on his finger, his heart beating so fast, feeling like he could pass out - but also, feeling so fully, immensely joyous. “Yes, of course. Of course I’ll have you.”

Oliver offered him the second ring. With trembling hands, Elio pulled it on Oliver’s ring finger, just like the older man had just done with him.

And Oliver smiled - the widest, most radiant smile Elio had ever seen on him since he’d known him.

“Now, no matter what anyone says; we’re married.”

Elio was still speechless, his mouth open in awe at what just happened, in disbelief. And Oliver reached out, nudged Elio’s chin up, and kissed him again, sealing the vows they had just made to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of notes: 
> 
> \- Oliver referring to his Navajo acquaintance as ‘Indian’ (instead of Native American) is time period-appropriate. The correct term Native American started to be used perhaps only 50 years later to indicate indigenous populations of the Americas. 
> 
> \- what Oliver says about the Navajo is something I’ve come across in my research. The Navajo, along with many other Native American tribes, did not recognise only two genders, but believed in the existence of ‘two spirit’ people, who identified as male or female, or sometimes both, and got married with others regardless of their biological gender. Two spirit people were revered and considered lucky for any family who had them. 
> 
> This is a very quick summary of the whole story, but it’s so interesting and quite beautiful - you can read more on it here:
> 
> https://www.google.co.uk/amp/s/newsmaven.io/indiancountrytoday/api/amp/indiancountrytoday/archive/two-spirits-one-heart-five-genders-9UH_xnbfVEWQHWkjNn0rQQ/
> 
> Please don’t forget to comment on my story! You can do so even if you’re not logged in, as I allow anonymous comments. 
> 
> Love from me x


	32. Lady the Mare

It had been just over a month since they’d settled into the cottage, but in that whole time, it had never rained as much as today.

It was more than rain, it was thunder and lighting. The wind slapped the roof and windows, and it was dark outside, already, nearly night time, but Elio was sure the sky would have been that black even if it were the middle of the day.

He was glad that Oliver had thought of reinforcing the door, almost right after they arrived. He’d done it to protect them from unwelcome visitors, of course - but Elio thought the wind might have taken it down, now, otherwise.

Oliver sat on the ground, on a blanket in front of the fireplace - the fire crackling happily, uncaring of the storm outside - and turned towards the door when he heard the horses neigh irritably.

“I feel really bad for them,” Elio said. “They have to be outside, under this rain.”

Oliver turned back towards the book he was reading - one of Elio’s Penny Dreadfuls.

“We’ve made them a roof, outside. It’s not a stable, but better than nothing. They’ve had worse.”

Elio sighed; from where he stood, by the wood stove, he picked up a small pot, from where steam was rising.Hot, dense liquid swirled inside, and Elio poured it into two wooden cups.

“I’ve made hot chocolate,” he smiled. He was excited; he hadn’t smelled that scent for months, now. “You usually would make it with milk, but we don’t have it so I used water and melted a chocolate bar into it. I think it’s just as good.”

He padded over to the fireplace, handed a cup to Oliver, and crouched down on the floor next to him with his own.

Oliver smiled; took a tentative sip.

“It’s good. Thank you.”

Elio’s cheeks coloured, with the warmth from the cup and from the fireplace - but also, with the pleasure at knowing that Oliver liked what he prepared. He didn’t know why, but it made him think of the others in the gang; of Sadie.

He wondered if it was raining, back where they were camping now. He wondered how they were doing. He almost felt guilty, thinking that he and Oliver were in a house, all for them, in more comfort than the rest of the gang had had for months, if not years.

He tried to shake the thought. He just missed them, that was all. He missed Sadie.

“Do you think the others are okay?” he asked, turning towards Oliver. Watching, as the older man closed the book, placed it on the floor next to them.

“I don’t know.” Oliver’s eyes were clear, seemed sincere. “But I think so. I think they’re fine.”

Elio nodded.A few months ago, a few weeks, even, he would have asked more questions. He would have expected to know more.

But now, he knew: that was their life. It was uncertain.And he had to live with it.

“I know you’re worried about Sadie,” Oliver added, a moment later. “But she’s tough. She’s capable. I am positive that she’s fine. Probably boss of the gang right now, in fact.”

Sincerity still in his eyes - it wasn’t a far fetched idea, not when Sadie was concerned - he smiled lightly at Elio, and Elio couldn’t help but smile back, even despite his worried mind.

And then he looked down; looked up again, into Oliver’s eyes.

“I’m sorry about - about Albert.” He waited, to see the reaction, the expression on his lover’s gaze. “I wanted to say it. I know you’re - I know it’s difficult.”

Oliver’s eyes didn’t move; he didn’t look away. But he didn’t reply, either - when he did, he changed the subject.

“Your drink is getting cold,” he said, nodding towards Elio’s cup. “Drink it, come on. I want to taste the chocolate from your lips.”

His tone was rough, almost gruff; but all the same, it made a shiver run through Elio’s whole body, and he couldn’t do anything else but obey. Oliver really had him under a spell.

When Oliver reached over, held his chin, kissed his mouth - he breathed deep, and pushed into the kiss, and Elio went pliant, let him do it.

“So fucking sweet,” Oliver growled - and it was almost unlike him, but he’d started being more vocal during their lovemaking, as they got more acquainted with each other. Elio loved the shiver that the gentle dirty talk gave him. Loved feeling owned, loved knowing he could cause Oliver to lose his composure. Loved knowing that, no matter how wild his lover got, he would always be safe with him.

“Maybe I should lick the sugar off your whole body... what do you think, baby?” 

And Elio kissed him again, his hands, this time, holding Oliver’s face captive, Elio growling softly in his mouth, climbing on top of him, straddling him, and moaning with intent.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The rain still went on some time later, when they stood by the bucket of water, in the far corner of the room, washing each other. There had been a time when Elio felt shy about just standing in the nude, being seen by Oliver completely naked. But now, because of the closeness they shared, the close proximity of their living arrangement, their intimacy; he was completely at ease with being naked, with having Oliver naked next to him, against him.

Elio even found it fun: when he could throw water at Oliver, sink his fingers into his lover’s wet hair; both their bodies still buzzing with the reminiscence of recent sex and orgasms.

Oliver had really licked sugar off his body.

He’d dabbed his fingers into his hot chocolate, slid the pads over Elio’s lips, first, then his throat and his collarbone; kissed the path he’d drawn.

He’d got more chocolate to paint Elio’s nipples. Sucked, slow and lazy, on both of the rosy tips until Elio had tried to stop him, overwhelmed with sensation - but Oliver had continued on, holding Elio’s wrists out of the way, making him wail.

Then, with more chocolate, he’d drawn a line down Elio’s sternum, down on his abdomen, on the sharp points of his hipbones, into Elio’s navel - and he’d followed the path, once again, with his tongue. Until he reached the delicate small curve of the boy’s belly, and kissed it. Reaching out for more chocolate, for more secret, forbidden places.

Elio was used by now to being made love to by Oliver’s mouth, had started wanting to reciprocate every time they slept together. But this time, Oliver didn’t stop there. 

He raised Elio’s leg, and his fingers stroked inward, the chocolate touching that most intimate place between Elio’s legs - and Elio kept his eyes closed, moaned loud, his heart beating so fast. It was terrifying and it felt so, so good, especially when Oliver put his fingers inside him, licked around where they made space inside Elio’s body.

They were both sticky, and way too warm, the fireplace still crackling, by the end of it. Elio’s legs trembled, he didn’t think he could walk. And Oliver pulled him up to standing, kissed him deeply, held him as they poured lukewarm water on their bodies, washing away remnants of chocolate and their pleasure from each other.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The rain only let up at the first lights of morning.

Still asleep, Elio felt his face damp, andthought water might be perhaps dripping from the roof, until he opened his eyes and found Rufus there, staring at his face, greeting him good morning with a yap.

“Where is Oliver?” Elio asked the dog, scratching his head and yawning, when he saw the other side of the bed empty.

Rufus yapped again, and then the door opened, Oliver walking in, his boots stained with mud. Rufus wagged his tail and ran to him, barking some more.

“Why are you up already?” Elio grumbled, pouting, pulling the blanket over his body and curling up under it. It was so early.

“The horses were making noise. I wanted to go and see if everything was okay.” Oliver sat down on one of the chairs he’d made, took off his boots. “It turns out that the mare is pregnant.”

Elio pulled himself up to sitting.

“What?”

“Yeah. It’s hard to see with mares, until they are showing properly,” Oliver said, crouching down next to Elio.

“Wow.” Elio rubbed one eye with the back of his hand. “Well. Arthur is good, huh?” He smirked, mischievously. “Almost as good as his master.”

It made Oliver chuckle. “Why? Are you trying to tell me something?”he joked, placed his hand on Elio’s abdomen, his eyes glittering with mirth.

“Shut up,” Elio laughed as well, playfully pushing the hand away - but only receiving a round of tickling for his troubles, Oliver’s hand teasing his chest and underarms until Elio managed to bat it away.

“It wouldn’t have been Arthur, you silly,” Oliver chuckled again. “Horse pregnancies last eleven months, and they only start showing at eight or nine.”

Elio pushed the blanket away.

“Can I see her? Please?” He reached over to grab his shirt, pulled it over his head, grabbed his trousers too. “We’re going to wash at the lake anyway, right? I want to see her.”

He’d been trying to convince Oliver to let him out in the clearing just around the house, for the past few days. As the weeks went by - now five since they escaped - Oliver seemed more inclined to consider Elio’s request.

And this time, finally, he relented.

“Fine. Come on, come and see her.”

Elio’s hair was still mussed, curls tousled by sleep, when they stepped out. The boy walked to the horses, smiled at Lady, who was grazing quietly and lifted up her head when he approached her. 

“She doesn’t look much different.”

Oliver walked over to him, lighting a cigar, one of the remaining ones from those he had a camp.

“It’s not easy to tell. I told you, they only start showing quite late. I think she’s probably eight months along now.”

Elio reached out to stroke Lady on the nose. “Are you okay, girl?” he cooed to her.

“She’ll be fine,” Oliver said, taking another drag from his cigar. “We’re going to have a foal soon.”

Elio smiled.

They were. It was going to be like years ago, at his family’s villa, when the mares had foals. He was going to be able to look after the baby horse; if everything went well, if nothing came to disturb them.

And maybe one day, they could have more than one foal; more than a few horses. One day, maybe, they could build a ranch. With other animals, as well.

He watched on as Lady went back to grazing, her demeanour tranquil after an eventful, rainy night.

The sun was shining through the clouds now; it was warm on their skin. Elio let Oliver wrap an arm around his waist, let him whisper in his ear, ‘let’s go and make some breakfast, my love’.

And with one last excited look towards Lady and Rufus sniffing at their feet, Elio nodded, walked back inside to put the coffee on, and gather biscuits and gravy for them to eat, to start their day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOVE YOU ALL AND ALL YOUR COMMENTS! please keep telling me what you think ;)


	33. It could have been you

Everything was going so well. And the more days that went by, the more Oliver wanted to make sure he did everything he could to protect their little world. To live in that dream-like state, for just a little longer.

It was perhaps the anxiety, the night before his next trip into town, that made his sleep difficult, gave him nightmares.

He dreamt of coming back to the cabin, finding that everyone was gone: Elio, Rufus. Arthur and Lady. In the dream, all he saw was blood on the floor, right where he and Elio had made love just the night before. Where Oliver had taken the boy on all fours, pulled him back with a hand around his throat, gentle and severe - now were smears of red instead.

It had been terrifying, and upon waking up Oliver had looked to his side, seen his young lover sleeping peacefully; but even then, he didn’t calm down, until he pressed his lips against Elio’s temple, smelled his hair, felt the warmth of his skin, his heartbeat.

He didn’t know why - or maybe he did - but he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something bad to happen.

He’d never been like that, in all his life. Every time he’d been anxious, fearful, he’d always done what needed to be done, swallowing down his fear and his worries, knowing that they did not serve him, knowing that he needed his sound mind to survive.

Now, with Elio there to look after, his mistress, his spouse - he found it more and more difficult to push back his fears.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He had to travel into town that day, however - they needed provisions - and he told himself he couldn’t let irrational worries make him paranoid and distressed without reason. 

Dressed for the weather - it was warmer now, as they were going towards summer - Oliver bent over Elio, still asleep on the bed, and kissed his hair. It was growing long now, curling in soft ringlets, messy on top of his head and around his ears.

“I’ll see you in the evening,” he murmured to him, watching him stir for a moment without waking up. As he walked out to hitch Arthur to the wagon, Rufus barked; Oliver shushed him. “I’ll be back soon, boy,” he promised.

He tried not to think, as he guided Arthur through the woods, and along paths that took them down from the hill and then into a stretch of lowland alongside the river. And finally, into a road that started narrowly and then opened up, became larger, busier with wagons and carriages.

This time, Oliver only intended to reach the smaller town, closest to their hill. He wanted to be quick. And yet, even after he carried out all his errands - sold pelts; bought provisions, the tools they needed - after he was ready to leave, the weather turned once again. The sky becoming dark grey, lighting zapping through the clouds. He had to wait, as the rain pelting down the road threatened to crumble the path, replacing it with slippery mud.

And so Oliver sat in the saloon, keeping an eye on the sky through the windows, a cup of rum in front of him warming up his throat every time he took a sip.

He kept thinking of Elio. Kept thinking about his dream, kept worrying about him.

 

 

 

He’d never believed in premonitions, and so he once again pushed his thoughts aside. When the sky patched itself up, he got back on the wagon, determined not to think. Until, halfway on his path back home, in that stretch of plain that was usually deserted, he heard screams. A girl’s, and he didn’t know where they were coming from, so he slowed his wagon down, listened intently.

It was coming from beyond the bend on the road, where the remains of a derelict house stood - and as Oliver came closer, he could also hear a man’s voice, screaming back at the woman.

Oliver slowed Arthur down to a halt before the wagon could become too obvious to anyone watching from the house, and then got off, walked slowly to the source of the screams, hand on his gun.

Inside the house, hidden behind the broken brick wall, a man straddled the body of a girl, her face streaked with tears, red with terror, her hands bound behind her back in a way that must have hurt.

“Somebody help me!” the girl wailed, voice broken from screaming for so long.

“Shut up, you whore,” the man shouted again, slapped her in the face.

“Hey!” Oliver called. He stepped out from the wall he’d hid behind to keep an eye on the scene, pointed his gun at the man. “Step away from her.”

Criminals like that were never poised or rational, granted, and so Oliver wasn’t expecting much; but now, this one didn’t even give him the time to plan a reaction.

The man stood, his gun also pointed towards Oliver - the girl still crying on the ground; and then, without uttering a sound - he moved the gun onto her, and pulled the trigger.

It was one very short, very inevitable moment. Before he could turn his gun back onto him, Oliver shot him - right between his eyes, watching his body crumble to the ground, like an empty mannequin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver’s hands were trembling as he climbed back onto the wagon.

He wasn’t too far from home, and he set his jaw, spurred Arthur onto a faster canter to get there as soon as possible. His heart was still hammering in his chest.

It was anger, more than anything else.

The girl was dead.

Her body lay lifeless in the ruined remains of that cabin. Her blood everywhere; on the ground, on her clothes - on Oliver.

Oliver’s shirt was stained red, and his hands were, too, from when he’d knelt down to check her pulse, only finding a slash across her throat where the bullet from the shotgun had torn into her flesh, killed her instantly.

It was really strange how this all was affecting him, and Oliver tried to push the thoughts aside yet again - this wasn’t him. He’d seen people die before. He’d killed people, before.

And yet this time, the image of the dead girl on the ground was something he couldn’t shake, couldn’t block from the back of his eyelids every time he closed his eyes.

His jaw was set, teeth almost grinding.

It could have been Elio.

It would have been Elio, so many times, had Oliver not looked out for him, had the gang not been there for him, for the both of them.

By the time he reached their cabin, it was almost evening, the sky grey with dusk. Oliver climbed off the wagon; but before he’d come close to the entrance, Elio had already opened the door.

“Oliver,” the boy breathed, shock in his voice and in his eyes.

Oliver walked into the house quickly, closed the door behind himself, and spoke, his voice a growl.

“You shouldn’t open the door like that.”

“Are you - are you bleeding? Are you hurt?” Elio asked, his eyes wide, his face going pale.

“I said you shouldn’t open the door like that! When you don’t even know who’s outside! For Christ’s sake, Elio! You need to listen to me!”

His voice was raised, to a volume he’d never used with Elio before. Oliver knew he shouldn’t be shouting, he should calm down, but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. Adrenaline cursed through his body; goddamn his dream, goddamn that scum of a man, goddamn whoever had let that girl be killed, including himself.

“I - I knew it was you,” Elio tried, his eyes still wide, but now uncomprehending, confused.

Oliver frowned, bit the inside of his lip with anger. He took a step forward, towards Elio, who didn’t move.

“You need to be more careful. You need to - it could have been you. It could have been you!”

His voice raised again, his breathing accelerated, Oliver grit his teeth and stared at Elio, at his flushed face and wide eyes. The boy looked scared, almost shocked at the vehemence with which Oliver was talking to him.

He spoke, his voice just a murmur.

“I’m - I’m sorry. I just - you have blood on you,I - I just want to know that you’re not hurt,” he tried again.

Oliver took a breath, shook his head. The anger was still making him shake, and he closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath.

His eyes fell on his own hand, closed into a fist, shadows of red from the girl’s blood still on his skin - but his ring still glimmering gold, on his finger.

He was being unfair. He was letting his emotions, everything that had happened, dictate his actions, his behaviour towards Elio. It was not right.

He took another breath, closed his eyes tight; and then turned around, and left the house.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He walked to the edge of the hill, a few feet away, where the terrain slanted gently towards the plain beneath. The stump of a trunk stood where Oliver had cut the tree down to make wood for the fire, and he sat down on it. Tried to come back into himself, calm down.

It was wrong, it was all wrong.

It was the first time, in his life, that he’d felt this way.

He’d always been able to control himself before, because his life depended on that control, on the cold mind and heart that was needed to think clearly, think fast, find the best course of action for any peril or problem.

And now? Now he’d let nightmares and anger taint his thinking. Now that he had someone to protect, now that he needed his clear mind the most.

“Oliver?”

Elio’s tentative voice reached him, as if from outside a bubble.

Oliver turned towards him. The boy stood a few feet away, frowning; worried. Only a light shirt covering his body, his cheeks flushed red with the chilly air of the evening.

Oliver sighed, turned back towards the plains.

“Go back inside, Elio.”

“No, Oliver, I - I want to know what happened,” Elio’s voice was quiet, but firm.

Oliver sighed again.

“Do what I tell you. Please, Elio.”

He didn’t turn around, but he heard the noise of footsteps coming closer, tentative. And then Elio’s voice again, closer this time, tentative.

“I want to obey you, but - I need to know that you’re okay. I need to know what happened.” And then, when Oliver didn’t reply: “Please, don’t send me away again.”

He was upset. Distressed. And Oliver hated knowing he’d caused it. He looked down once again, at his hands folded on his lap, smeared-red. Elio must be terrified, and yet there he was, gathering all the strength he could muster to keep himself together, face whatever was happening.

He was so much better than him.

“What - what did you mean, earlier? Who could have been me, Oliver?” Elio pressed; gently, quietly.

And Oliver, finally, spoke.

“When I was riding back, a couple of hours ago. This girl was being assaulted by a bandit - I tried to stop him. But he killed her. Right in front of me.” He set his teeth, exhaled; turned to look up at Elio, choosing not to hide anything. “I shot him.”

Elio, slowly, nodded.

“I had this dream last night that - that someone took you, someone harmed you. And - Elio, I can’t let things like that into my mind. It’s not right. It’s not how it should be.”

The anger was making his arms tense again. His whole chest felt heavy.

He hadn’t intended to say anything, he shouldn’t have said anything.

“It happens.” Elio murmured. His green eyes still wide. “It’s human nature.”

“Do you realise how dangerous that is?” Oliver’s voice raised again, his eyebrows knitted into a deep frown as he looked at Elio.

Perhaps, subconsciously, he’d intended to make Elio stop pressing, stop questioning - see the error of Oliver’s ways, agree that he was unfit for his role, right at this moment.

But Elio didn’t flinch. Didn’t let himself be intimidated.

“We are a couple, though - right? We are together. And I know you’re worried for me. I’m worried for you, too. We just need to start talking to each other. Start telling each other things.”

Oliver shook his head, looked away.

“That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

Elio took a few more steps. Closed the distance between them, stood in front of Oliver, trembling, in his light, indoor shirt - but unafraid.

His slender hands reached out, cupped Oliver’s face, and gently made him turn to look back up at him.

“Why? I don’t understand.”

Oliver’s face was still rigid, his jaw still tense, but he let Elio’s palms hold him, make him look up into the boy’s eyes.

“It’s not meant to be like this,” the older man sighed. “You’re my spouse. I’m meant to look after you, I’m meant to protect you. Not cry to you about nightmares, about things that can’t be changed, or my worries, my bad thoughts. I should be taking them down. I always have.”

“You do, though,” Elio said. “You look after me, you make me happy. You’re always everything I need - so, I can be what you need, too. It’s not wrong to - to be scared.”

Oliver looked down; exhaled a long, reproachful breath.

His hands flew up to hold onto Elio’s waist. The fingers pressing into the slender curves - and Oliver watched as his palms left smears of rust red on Elio’s thin, white shirt, right where he held him.

“I love you,” Elio murmured. “I want to be there for you. Just like you’re always there for me.”

His fingers nudged Oliver’s chin up, palms still holding him. The chilly air making Elio tremble, still, in Oliver’s hold; and then the boy leant down, pressed his lips against Oliver’s for a few, long moments.

Oliver let him, and cursed his unruly mind, for not letting him relax and enjoy his young lover fully. He knew he needed to stop his thoughts. He’d been so worried, so concerned, recently. He knew he’d been really strict with Elio, limited his freedom, but he didn’t want to take any risks - like what happened to that poor, poor girl a few hours earlier.

He tightened his fingers on Elio’s waist, pressed his forehead into the boy’s tummy, then his mouth, against it.

“I’m sorry about that girl,” Elio spoke again, his voice barely a whisper. “I know it could have been me. But you’ve always protected me.” His thumbs stroked Oliver’s cheekbones, softly. “Oliver, it’s - It’s not your fault. That she died.”

Oliver took another deep breath, closed his eyes for a long moment. Nodded.

“Yeah.”

It was then that he noticed Elio shivering. The night had fully surrounded them. It was cold, now.

He looked up at Elio.

“Let’s go back inside. You’re freezing.”

“We need to unload the wagon, first. And clean your hands,” Elio said, smiled gently, his palms still on Oliver’s cheeks. And, before Oliver could say anything, he spoke again.

“Let me help you. Please.”

He was ignoring the cold, the goosebumps dotting the skin of his arms.

And Oliver nodded, again. Elio’s tone was so determined, just like his eyes, and Oliver kissed his abdomen again, stood, following his young spouse as he lead the way.


	34. Unexpected visitor

It was early in the morning, but Elio was wide awake.

Straddling Oliver, both of them naked, Elio’s thighs wide over the older man’s pelvis, the boy moved, up and down, his palms flat on Oliver’s chest for support.

It was one of his favourite positions. He loved the power that he felt it gave him. He loved watching Oliver’s face, each time he moved, each time Elio’s body flexed, stroked, joined with his.

But he loved feeling owned and taken, too, and Oliver’s hands were there for that, holding strong on to his hipbones, almost bruising.

“You’re so tight,” Oliver breathed, almost to himself, eyes closed - head back on the pillow. “So tight. Fuck, keep going.”

Elio felt much more confident now, with his body and with Oliver’s. Enjoyed it, when they talked to each other during sex; when Oliver lost control like that.

He snapped his hips up again, descended slowly, arching back at the sensation. At the next stroke, Oliver bent his legs at the knee, pushed up while Elio moved down. It felt so much deeper than before, almost painfully so, and Elio whimpered, his whole body jolting, losing its rhythm.

“Does it feel good? Tell me how it feels,” Oliver demanded, looking up at him. And Elio could barely breathe.

“It - it feels so good. So good. So deep.”

“Slow down, baby,” Oliver requested then. “Slow down. I don’t want to finish yet.”

Elio obeyed. He sat back down, taking all of Oliver inside his body, just like he liked and knew that Oliver liked, too. He closed his eyes, hands still palms-down onto Oliver’s chest, and breathed deep, enjoying the stretch, the feeling of fullness deep inside his belly.

“Do you have to go to the trapper today?” He asked, softly, as they both breathed in unison.

“Mmmh?” Oliver’s eyes were still closed. “Yes.” His hips gave a gentle kick, and Elio started moving again. Up, and down.

“Do you think you’ll want to have sex again tonight?” Elio asked again, holding his rhythm, bending over a little to get closer to Oliver’s lips.

“Fuck, I don’t know, Elio,” Oliver’s eyes opened, and his hands held onto Elio’s hips harder, guided him to move faster. “What’s all these questions.”

“If you,” Elio started, had to stop and breathe after a deeper thrust made him shiver, “if you’re going, take me with you. Or no sex tonight.”

It was only half a joke. He smiled, bit his lower lip after he said it, and his eyes gleamed with mischievousness - luckily, he knew that Oliver understood; and yet, he got as much as he gave, when Oliver squeezed his hips hard, held him still again.

“Are you blackmailing me with sex?” the older man asked, voice raised with mock outrage.

“I’ve done it before and it worked.” Elio’s eyes gleamed again, and he tried to push down into Oliver’s hips, but the older man didn’t let him.

“You really want to make me angry,” Oliver growled low, pulled up to sitting properly, and Elio’s hands flew to his head, fingers plunging into Oliver’s hair - and then they kissed, deep, hungry, biting each other’s lips, Elio moaning demandingly into Oliver’s mouth. 

They kept kissing as they resumed their coupling, slow at first, and then fast, and faster, until Oliver held Elio down by his hips and came inside him, Elio’s orgasm following suit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I want to go with you,” Elio tried again some time later, as they regained their breath, lying side by side on the bed.

“Why? It’s just a quick trip to sell pelts. And Lady is going to give birth soon,” was Oliver’s answer, arm over his face as he slowed down his breathing. “I thought you wanted to be with her when it happens.”

Elio sighed. It was so frustrating.

“We don’t know it’s going to happen today. And plus, you haven’t even told me what to do to help her. I swear, sometimes I think that you like me not knowing things.”

He turned around, on his side, frowning. He knew he was being childish - he didn’t mean to. He was just annoyed. It had been three months since they’d got there, and nothing bad had happened. Elio didn’t want to stay inside the house and never go anywhere, forever. 

Behind him, he felt Oliver move; and then the older man came closer, nuzzled the side of Elio’s neck gently.

“Hey. You know that that’s not true.”

Elio turned around again, met Oliver’s gaze.

“Please let me come with you. Nothing’s going to happen.”

With the tip of his index finger Oliver stroked a curl away from Elio’s eyes, spoke quietly.

“Not today.”

And Elio knew that there was no point in insisting, not when Oliver used that tone, had that look in his eyes - calm, but which left no room for rebuttal.

He turned back around, on his side, facing the wall. And he felt Oliver sigh, stroke his naked back, slowly, with a hand, and then get up to go and wash up for the day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio was getting ready for another day on his own - perhaps half day, this time, the trapper wasn’t too far, and it all depended on whether Oliver stopped to hunt game for dinner - when a noise from outside piqued his curiosity.

Rufus barked at the door, his tail wagging, and Elio walked to the window to look outside.

A chestnut horse stood by the path to their cabin, and Elio strained his eyes to see who the rider was - and his heart leapt when he spotted blonde hair in a ponytail, and a pair of brown eyes that were so familiar - and so missed. 

Sadie.

“Oliver!” Elio called, trying to make himself heard over Rufus barking excitedly. “Oliver! It’s Sadie!”

He didn’t know how the girl had found them, didn’t really care to think about it right now - decided to ignore Oliver’s orders, just this time, and opened the door to run outside, smiling, throwing his arms around his friend.

“Sadie! Sadie, you’re okay!”

“Of course I’m okay,” the girl replied, a mock gruff tone to tease him. She was wearing a huge smile, too, and her arms squeezed Elio hard to herself. “I’m glad to see you well, too.”

Elio didn’t let go for a while. When he did, Oliver had walked over to them, and stepped closer to hug Sadie, too.

“Good to see you,” he greeted. “I guess Alcyd told you?”

“He’d told me about this place an age ago, don’t you go thinking you’re the only one he tells things to,” Sadie said, and winked at him. “I was on my way to Cold Lake and thought I’d take a detour, come and see how you’re doing.”

“I’m so glad you did!” Elio smiled again, took her hand in his. “Come, I want to show you our house.”

“Your house, huh?” Sadie said, and let Elio pull her towards the cabin, turned around to smile and wink at Oliver once again, impressed by what she was hearing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rufus jumped around Sadie, making her laugh, as the girl sat on the floor by the fire. She tried to stroke his head and the puppy liked her hand instead, growled playfully.

“He’s grown so much,” Sadie said, laughing again as Rufus barked and tried to goad her into playing with him, backside stuck up in the air.

“Yeah. They grow quickly in the first few months,” Elio nodded, smiling at the dog’s antics. And then he asked the question he’d been waiting to know the answer for since Sadie appeared. “How long are you going to stay?”

“Maybe a couple of days.” Sadie leant back, hands planted behind her, legs out towards the fireplace. She was finally wearing trousers, Elio noticed, proud.

Oliver had left to go to the trapper - it was the only day the man would be in the area, before he continued his itinerant business from state to state - but he’d said he’d be quick.

It meant Elio and Sadie could catch up at their leisure, in the meantime.

“How are the others?” Elio asked. Then, a little more hesitantly: “Is Albert still very angry with me?”

Sadie frowned, for just a moment. And then spoke.

“The others are all right. All, well, except, you know. Hosea.” Her eyes lowered for a moment, and Elio nodded. Hearing that name still gave him a stab of guilt to the heart. “Albert has not mentioned you or Oliver since that day.”

Elio nodded again. Swallowed, bit the inside of his lower lip.

“But how have you two been? Tell me everything. I like your house. I want to know what you guys do every day.”

Elio looked up at Sadie’s tone - she was speaking excitedly, clearly doing her best to change the subject.

“Yeah, it’s good. We have it good. We have a new bed, and a wood stove to cook, and water from the lake. We have Rufus, and Arthur and Lady - and Lady’s going to have a foal soon.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Sadie smiled. Then she looked down, at Elio’s hand - nodded towards his ring finger. “I think you forgot to tell me something pretty important...”

Elio looked at her, confused for a moment, until he followed her gaze down to his hand - and blushed furiously.

“Oh, this,” he said. He looked down, then back up at Sadie - and he was sure his eyes shone. “We - we have rings, now. Oliver says we’re married.”

“And you are!” Sadie’s smile had grown so wide, her eyes glittered, too. She leaned forward, gave Elio another hug. “This is so wonderful. Congratulations, darling.”

When she let him go, Elio’s eyes went back to the ring on his finger. He caressed it lightly with his other hand, deep in thought.

“I’m so happy. I’m happy to be here, with Oliver, and Rufus, and I - I’m trying to make it good for Oliver too, you know?” He looked up; met Sadie’s gaze. “He does so much for us, and - I want him to have a good place when he comes home. I think we’re going to have a garden, grow our own vegetables. Maybe.”

“Oh, that would be great. My Jake and I also had a little garden in our backyard - but it was too cold, it snowed a lot - couldn’t grow much there.”

Elio nodded. He looked back down, played with his ring again, absentmindedly.

“Oliver is...he doesn’t like me going outside. He’s - he’s worried - about someone seeing me, and - hurting me.”

“Even after quite a few weeks? That you two have been okay?” Sadie asked - and her tone was gentle, non-judgemental.

“Yeah. He doesn’t want to take any risks.”

Sadie nodded. “It’s understandable. After everything that’s happened. And Oliver is a very protective man. He only wants to look after you.”

Rufus had fallen asleep next to them, a ball of fluffy fur curled up on the floor and basking in the warmth from the fireplace - and Elio stroked one of his paws gently.

“I know. But I feel lonely when he’s away. I wish I could do more things. I wish I could go with him.” Elio sighed. “I wish I could learn. You know.”

And immediately, he felt guilty - it wasn’t right for him to complain with Sadie. He liked his life, he liked his house with Oliver, the time they got to spend together - the fact that they were, together.

He shook his head.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m not complaining, I swear.” His face felt warm, flushed, with the shame he felt when he thought that, while he was picking at his comfortable life, Sadie still lived in an outdoor camp, having to stand guard at night, at the mercy of bandit attacks more often than not. Definitely a huge difference.

“Oh, Elio, don’t worry. If there’s someone who knows what it means to want to do more, it’s me!” Sadie smiled. Then she sat up, her eyes widening, like she’d just had a great idea.

“Listen. I can teach you some things. What do you want to learn? Shooting? Using a knife? I’m sure you’ll be good, and then once I’m gone, Oliver will want to continue teaching you!”

She seemed so into the idea, and Elio blinked, his heartbeat quickening.

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not?” Sadie looked up, at the sky. It was late morning. “We can start right now, if you want. We can practice some self-defense tricks your man taught me?”

Her face had a mischievous expression, and she looked like she couldn’t wait to start - as if it was a new mission for her. And Elio smiled back; it sounded good to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please leave me a comment if you’re reading! 
> 
> And come and chat to me on Twitter or Tumblr :)


	35. I was lucky, not everyone is

When Oliver returned that evening, Rufus ran towards him, barking, shaggy tail perennially wagging.

“Did they forget you outside, boy?” Oliver asked, keeping the plucked duck he’d killed up and out of the dog’s reach.

He walked to the entrance to the cabin, and opened the door; he could hear laughter from inside, Elio and Sadie’s voices, and finally saw them, sat by the fire and chuckling still.

“Hey,” Oliver greeted, walking towards the wood stove - and almost like a copy of Rufus Elio jumped to his feet, ran towards him to kiss him on the mouth.

“You’re back!”

“He doesn’t celebrate this much for me usually, Sadie,” Oliver laughed for a moment, arm wrapping around Elio’s waist. “I’m being spoiled, now that you’re here.”

Sadie chuckled, and Elio pouted. “That’s not true. I always do this, it’s just that he doesn’t remember because he’s tired when he comes back late.”

Oliver smiled, and slid a hand up to Elio’s head, let his fingers grasp a fistful of the boy’s thick curls so he could hold him still and kiss him on the forehead, before letting him go.

“What did you two do today?”

As he hung the duck upside down over the stove, Oliver looked over at Elio - and saw the boy throw a glance at Sadie.

“Sadie was teaching me some stuff.”

“Oh?” Oliver went to wash his hands in the basin he’d built out of wood. “What things?”

Suddenly, he had a feeling that that was a question he already knew the answer for. And when Elio replied, kind of quietly - “You know what things,” Oliver stopped, folded his arms on his chest.

“I was just teaching him some self defense tricks,” Sadie said, stood from her place in front of the fire. “Some of what you taught me. How to hold a gun, how to shoot. Things like that.”

Her voice was quiet, almost fabricated in its calmness - clearly, she wanted him to know it was all fine.

Oliver frowned, looked at her.

“Here? In the house?”

“Yes, yes, here,” Elio answered for Sadie, and his eyes were wide and puppy-dog innocent. “We didn’t go out, I swear.”

“And what makes you think that doing that in the house makes it safer? Or even fine to do?”

Oliver’s voice was cold, flat. And he wasn’t sure who he was directing his question to, Elio or Sadie - it was for both and for no one, really. It was a way for him to try to control his anger, as much as he could in that moment.

“It was - it was fine, Oliver, nothing happened...” Elio said. He sounded taken aback, and Oliver looked him straight in the eye.

“That’s always your reason, isn’t it? Nothing happened? And when something happens, what are you going to do, huh? When you do whatever the hell you want, are you going to cope with the consequences??”

“What - Oliver-“

Oliver sighed, looked away from him. “I just wish you tried, at least. To understand.”

Elio’s reply, then, made him look up.

“I try to understand! I’ve tried!” the boy said, his voice louder, then. “But no, I can’t. I can’t understand why you’re being like this with me!”

His eyes were wide, dark green pools. He stood, as tall as he could, biting his lower lip, and Oliver knew he was doing it to hold back his emotions.

Oliver looked away from that freckled face that he loved, but that he just couldn’t bear to look at right now.

He didn’t know how to explain himself. He didn’t know how to communicate what was in his mind, in his chest, every time he thought of Elio in danger, every time he thought of him not living in the safe world Oliver desperately wanted to give him.

He sighed, and then walked away from him, leaving the house and stepping out, into the chilly air of the evening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Oliver?”

Sadie’s voice, calm as always, called gently a few minutes later.

Cigar in his hand, Oliver blew out the smoke, watched it break and disappear into the air in front of him.He spoke quietly, looking ahead, without turning towards her.

“Sorry you had to see that. It’s not what I meant to happen.”

The rasp of Sadie’s boots on the grass got a little closer, and she stopped next to him; quiet, too, for a moment.

“You really don’t have to worry about me,” she said then, took a deep breath; let a long moment pass between them. “I’m just sorry because I feel like I caused this.”

Oliver shook his head, took another drag of his cigar.

“He’s seventeen, not a child. He can take responsibility for his choices.”

His voice was level, emotionless. And he’d planned it that way. The mere fact that Sadie had to witness their fight was something he didn’t like, at all.

Yes, people always fought at camp - hell, Susan and Albert yelled at each other all the time. But it was never Oliver. He was the one who calmed the atmosphere when there was tension, the one who tried to repair rifts, not the opposite way around.

“It wasn’t his idea. I suggested it,” Sadie said, and Oliver felt her eyes on him - but he kept looking ahead. The slope of the hill in front of them was black with the night, looked like an abyss.

“I don’t mean to meddle with your business. You know it’s the last thing I would want to do.” Sadie sighed, and though Oliver wasn’t looking at her, he knew she didn’t take her eyes off him. “You’ve done such a great job here, built Elio such a good home. But - why is it so wrong for him to want to learn? To want to be prepared?”

Sadie’s voice had genuine curiosity in it. She cared, for real, and Oliver knew - she cared about this like she’d always cared about everything else before. She was just trying to help.

And yet Oliver wished she didn’t ask. Wished they didn’t have to discuss, that he didn’t have to defend his position.

He dropped the stub of the cigar to the ground, pushed the heel of his boot down on it to make sure it was completely out.

And then, he sighed.

“Listen, I think - I think you know what I mean when I say - that we’ve all had to grow up in a certain way. In the street, in the woods, scavenging and stealing, and begging like animals. I’ve had to kill, and hurt, I’ve had to do things that still keep me awake at night. I still have to.”

He swallowed, and then, finally, turned towards Sadie. Looked into her eyes.

“It’s a shit world out there. And why is it so wrong of me not to want that, for him? Why is it so wrong to - to do everything in my power to give him what I can’t have?”

Sadie’s eyes, as wide as Elio’s had been an hour ago, held his as Oliver paused, swallowed again, and then looked out towards the horizon again.

“The things you see and the things you have to do will never leave you, Sadie. This life doesn’t forgive - Hosea used to tell me, all the time. You lose people, you lose friends, to death, or worse. Why is it so bad of me to want to keep him from this?” He shook his head. “He’s not like that. And he doesn’t have to be.”

His heart beat a little faster. Oliver took another breath, blinked away at the veil that seemed to want to cover his eyes. He knew that Sadie could not see him - but a moment later, he felt her hand touch his arm, her fingers gently squeezing his bicep - her palm warm against his skin.

“I’m sorry,” Sadie said, softly. Her voice was tentative, and Oliver looked down, didn’t turn towards her - he wasn’t accusing her of anything. “It just... I didn’t stop to think it could be this.” She shifted, and though Oliver couldn’t see her, he felt her sad smile.

“You sounded like my Jake. Right then.”

Oliver nodded; blinked again.

So Sadie understood.

“But, you see,” she murmured after a moment. “Elio will be looked after, and protected, and loved more than anything in the world, I know he will. But what happens if god forbid - if you’re no longer around to protect him?”

Oliver turned towards her. It was fully night time now, but he could see her eyes - pitch black, now. Dry, but full of a pain so unimaginable that it took Oliver’s breath away. 

“The worst thing you could do is to leave him on his own. Without a defense, without a plan. I was lucky - but not everyone is.”

She took a deep breath, lifted her chin, defiant, towards what, Oliver wasn’t sure. Memories, perhaps.

“Preparing him and giving him a chance doesn’t mean you’ll stop protecting him. He’ll still belong to you. God, Oliver - that kid is so in love with you. He’s seventeen, and he’s married to you.” She took his hand gently, squeezed two fingers of his with hers. “It would just be another way in which you protect him. In which you love him.”

When Oliver turned around again, to look into her eyes, they were still dry. Wide, and black like the night sky. Steely, strong, like the woman they belonged to.

Oliver felt like he couldn’t say anything else. Like there was nothing else to add.

He felt her squeeze his fingers once more, and then she tipped her head, a small, brief smile stretching her lips. And then she walked back towards the cabin, leaving him there, to decide whether to follow her or not.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Oliver stepped inside, finally, the fire still crackled happily on its own.

By the stove, Sadie and Elio talked - a large wooden ladle in his hand, Elio stirred something dense and steaming in a large pot. Sadie looked at it, made a comment. Elio smiled briefly.

He looked sad, and Oliver’s chest squeezed.

“The duck meat cooks with the soup. But it’s the bones that give it all the flavor,” Elio was saying, as he looked at the soup, stirred carefully, and he was so engrossed he didn’t even notice Oliver had come back. “You’ll see, it tastes good. This is how Oliver likes it.”

Sadie was the first to notice Oliver there, and then Elio must have seen the look on her face because he turned around, and Oliver couldn’t help but smile, gently.

“Let me, I’ll stir this one for a little while,” Sadie said, taking the ladle from Elio’s hand.

The boy’s eyes were chained to Oliver’s, and the older man wrapped an arm around him; took him into his arms, ran his fingers through his curls - looking down into his eyes, at that face that he loved. So much.

Oliver wouldn’t have done it, but now he just had to - and so he kissed his young husband, holding onto his hair, feeling the warmth in his lips and his mouth. Hoping he was making him feel just as warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments. I read them all and they make me so happy. 
> 
>  
> 
> Please if you are reading, let me know. X


	36. Of goodbyes, and new arrivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I have been working such long hours this week. I will hopefully have more time from now on - but don’t get worried if there’s no daily updates :) I’ll try and keep you posted on my Twitter x

Elio laughed as he splashed water at Sadie, making her squeal.

They’d gone to the lake nearby to freshen up, right after they’d woken. The rays of sun filtered undisturbed through the oak leaves, the sky was blue. It seemed like it was going to be a warmer day.

“Thought the water was going to be colder, but it’s quite nice,” Sadie said. With her legs immersed up to her calves, she watched Elio as the boy splashed his armsin the water, ran his hands over his face.

“It is. The other day it was so nice, Oliver and I made love right in here.”

He had a mischievous look in his eyes, and clearly knew what he was doing, laughed when Sadie’s eyes went wide and she splashed him back, pretending to be scandalised.

“Elio! That was entirely too much information.”

Elio laughed again, shook his head of the water like Rufus did when he jumped in the lake or when he got caught in the rain. Then he pursed his lips, his eyes becoming sad.

“I wish you could stay with us a few more days,” he told Sadie.

And the girl’s smile was equally contrite.

“I know. But I’ve been away for too long already - Albert will send poor Kieran after me if I don’t show up back at camp soon.”

Elio sighed. “Promise I will see you again?”

“Of course you will. I’ll have to come back and see your garden, don’t I?” Sadie stepped closer, stroked wet curls away from Elio’s forehead. “And your new horse, when it’s born.”

Elio was reluctant to let Sadie go - but of course, she couldn’t just stay with them. She lived with the gang, miles away from here - and their cabin was way too small for more than two people, anyway, even if she’d chosen not to leave.

They hugged for long moments when it was time for her to say goodbye.

Then Sadie patted Elio’s back - told him she was proud of him.

“Please be careful,” Elio said, instead of a goodbye - because reminding Sadie to take care of herself was far more important.

Sadie hugger Oliver, too, and then left; Elio and Oliver watching, until she couldn’t be seen anymore, past the bend just further down from the hill.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver didn’t go anywhere that day, and Elio knew that it was because he didn’t want Elio to be by himself.

The cabin was small, but could still feel pretty huge, quiet and echoey to whoever was there alone; and especially after having had the added noise and warmth of a beloved guest for two days.

Elio was not about to complain. He made the most of having Oliver there, not needing to go anywhere for the day.

He napped in his arms, feeling Oliver’s lips warm against the crown of his head, pushing against a tuft of his curls. They had tea, and a packet of ginger cookies left over from Oliver’s last trip into town.

The day was lazy and slow, but Elio felt that he loved it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The day after, they were woken up by Rufus barking, over-excitedly wagging his tail and licking Elio’s nose.

Elio laughed, but hid his face against the pillow, refusing to open his eyes; until Oliver called.

“I think Lady is foaling,” the older man said, coming back in from outside. “You want to come and help?”

Elio’s eyes went wide at that, and he pulled himself up, grabbed a shirt to cover his naked body, and stood, followed Oliver outside, rubbing one eye of sleep with the back of his hand.

Lady was laying down on the grass, practically unmoving, but her ears perked up when they approached.

“Now, remember not to crowd her, or it’ll make her nervous,” Oliver said. “We just need to keep an eye on her. You stay here a moment, I’m going to move Arthur so she can have some privacy.”

Elio nodded, but his eyes didn’t move from the horse on the ground.

She didn’t move, save for an almost imperceptible flexing of one of her rear legs. Her belly was still swollen, and Elio’s heart beat faster. His dad’s horses back at the villa had had foals, he remembered, but he was too young to have done anything to help at the time - so there wasn’t much he could draw upon to know what to do now.

Completely on instinct, he crouched down next to the mare, and put a hand, gently, on her forehead, stroking back a strand of her mane which was covering her eyes.

“Good girl, Lady. You’ll be okay,” he murmured to her. She didn’t react, remained unperturbed, and that was good. That was what they were hoping for.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The birth was, in the end, quite quick.

Once Lady had begun foaling, she hardly even moved, and Elio still knelt by her head, a hand on her forehead, talking to her and keeping her calm.

Their biggest worry had been that the foal would take too long to appear, but luckily that wasn’t the case. The little horse was born minutes later, a dark bundle of long skinny legs and a big head which made Elio smile.

About an hour later, he was already feeding, and Lady stood, grazing quietly.

Elio smiled at Oliver, and the older man smiled back. It had all gone well, and now, they had a brand new horse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once Elio had cleaned up, he stood by the table they had in the middle of the room, and waited for Oliver as he took his turn by the water bucket.

“The foal is cute,” he said, looking towards Oliver as he dried himself up. “Do you think it’s a boy, or a girl?”

Oliver dropped his cloth in the bucket, walked towards Elio.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to check later. But I want to let Lady rest and spend some time with her foal for now.”

Elio nodded. “I’m glad it went fine. I was worried.”

Oliver’s lips stretched into a small smile, and the older man walked closer.He pushed his large hand into Elio’s hair, fingers tangling into the thick curls that had grown longer by now.

“I think you did so well,” Oliver praised, softly. His voice gruff, as he tilted Elio’s head back, looked into his eyes.

Elio let him, and then, when Oliver’s fingers closed around his curls, he closed his eyes, too, let the gentle pain of the pull in this hair radiate through his whole body.

He knew what Oliver wanted and so he widened his thighs, and Oliver stepped in between them, his other hand lifting one of Elio’s legs and making him slide back, sitting fully on the table, Oliver glued to him.

Elio’s heartbeat quickened. As it always did, every time he had Oliver so close.

He tilted his head back, squeezed his eyes shut and breathed hard, when Oliver’s fingers tightened further on his curls, for Oliver’s benefit - because he knew Oliver liked to hear him.

He let Oliver kiss his throat, the side of his neck, lick in to the delicate hollow between his collarbones. He pulled his own shirt off, and then opened one eye and reached out with both hands to grab Oliver’s shirt, undo the buttons, slide it down the older man’s wide shoulders. Oliver’s thick, curly, just-the-right-side-of-coarse chest hair turned him on, and Elio loved to tangle his fingers into it while he let Oliver fuck him into oblivion.

A moment later, and Oliver had divested him of his pants, and now Elio sat naked, being kissed passionately, his hands on Oliver’s shoulders and fingers clawing at the strong chords of muscles there.

Oliver only stopped kissing him to grab his discarded shirt, placing it on the table behind Elio.

“Lay back, baby,” Oliver asked, looking into the boy’s eyes, and at this point Elio had lost any restraint he might have had. His eyes were only open a slit, his breath accelerated and heart thundering out of hormones and arousal. He nodded, and then did as he was told - laying back on the table, Oliver in between his legs and holding his thighs to bracket his hips, Elio looking like a beautiful offering.

Elio watched as Oliver brought two fingers into his own mouth, wet them with saliva and then made them disappear in between Elio’s thighs.

Elio, by now, was expecting the pinch, was used to it. He tried to stay relaxed even though his back wanted to arch at the sensation; he wished Oliver didn’t have to hold his legs up, so that he could hold his hand instead.

Oliver didn’t speak - and Elio loved this kind of lovemaking, too. The one where they worked on instinct, communicating with their bodies only, instead of with words.

He kept his eyes closed, letting the next moment come to him unfiltered, unexpected. At the entrance to his body Oliver felt huge and demanding, but once the older man started to push, Elio could feel the slick of the oil, couldn’t help but arch his back, and yet still felt the whole slide in, inch by inch, and he moaned.

Elio loved the kind of lovemaking - like this time - when Oliver held him by his hips, moved inside him, his face serious and his eyes fixed on where their bodies were joined, as if the only thing he was interested in was to come, to use Elio for his own pleasure, to keep him there, like an offering, until he could empty himself inside his young lover. Elio liked the feeling of helplessness he had, liked to look at Oliver’s taught, strong body and think ‘I’m giving him pleasure’. He liked to tighten himself up around Oliver’s length and watch Oliver’s expression change, his eyes shutting more tightly, his jaw tense. It made Elio feel so powerful.

After a while, just moments before Elio felt it could become too much for his body, Oliver held him still, and Elio swore he could feel him, coming inside him, the rush of warmth filling him. He was about to protest when Oliver pulled out, but quickly changed his mind when Oliver lifted his hips up, fingers digging into the flesh there, placed Elio’s thighs on his shoulders, and kissed his entrance, once, twice - before moving on to sucking him off until Elio came, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“It’s a girl. So now we’ll have two mares,” Oliver announced, coming in from outside, shaking water out of his hair. It had started to rain again.

Curled up by the fire, a large woolen blanket around his shoulders, Elio smiled.

“I want to call her Belle. It’s Sadie’s middle name,” he said, looking up at Oliver.

“Belle it is.” Oliver walked to the bucket, washed his hands. Then looked towards Elio again. “Listen. Maybe tomorrow, you’d like to come into town with me?” He hesitated for a moment, and then knelt down next to the boy. “We can go to the gunsmith to buy cartridges to hunt - and I can teach you which ones we need. And we can go and get more seeds, for your garden.”

Elio’s smile widened immediately, and his eyes shone. “Yes! I’d love to.”

“Great. It’ll just be a quick trip, but it will be interesting.”

And Oliver kissed Elio’s beaming mouth quickly, before getting up, and going to check on the game they had cooking on the fire for dinner.


	37. The Day Before Tomorrow

Oliver woke one morning to find Elio’s side of the bed empty.

He could hear faint noises coming from the stove, so he didn’t worry just yet. He closed his eyes, and when he reopened them, the sun was bathing their bed with warm rays - it was already full morning.

Oliver got up from the bed, pulled his chord trousers on, and saw Elio sitting at the table, a cup of something steaming - most likely coffee - held in his hands. He was reading one of his books, and looked up at Oliver when he saw him standing, smiled at him. The air smelled sweet, like cocoa, but with a headier scent coming through from the stove.

“How long have you been awake?” Oliver asked, walking over to the boy, and placing a kiss on to his hair.

“A little while. I’m making venison stew. But the one that my mom makes - it needs to cook very slowly, for five hours, so I had to start it early.”

Oliver smiled. Mug of coffee-cocoa in hand, immersed in his book and with an eye on the pot where the stew was cooking, Elio looked so grown up, so mature - so responsible. Oliver poured his own coffee, and then came back for another kiss to Elio’s head, this time on his temple.

“It sounds like a lot of work,” he murmured, just to hear Elio talk more about his recipes, the things he was learning to become a better and better homemaker.

Elio smiled again, nodded, more to himself than anything.

“I know, but trust me. It will melt in your mouth.”

Oliver took a sip of his coffee. He wanted to kiss Elio, though, and so he padded back over, lifted his chin gently, leant down to kiss the boy’s full, inviting lips. Elio opened his mouth and soon their tongues were touching, and Oliver’s hands grabbed Elio’s biceps, pulled gently to make him stand up, pulled him harder towards himself. Fuck, but he was turned on. Seeing Elio - being so domestic, in his house - turned him on.

“Hey, no no no,” Elio interrupted him, a hand on Oliver’s chest and taking a step back. “Sorry, but I don’t have time right now, I have to stir the stew every couple of minutes.”

“That sounds boring,” Oliver purred against the side of the boy’s neck. His hand stroked down from his arm, up the middle of Elio’s chest, to the side, and his fingers pinched a nipple gently through Elio’s thin night shirt.

“Oliver!” Elio scolded, and his hand flew down to cover Oliver’s mischievous one on his chest - but let it pinch again, a little harder, before pushing it away. “You’re distracting me, and this is very important! I want it to taste really good, so I need to be on it. I can’t do other stuff.”

Oliver rolled his eyes, huffed theatrically, playfully. “Fine,” he said. Leant over again, gave Elio a quick kiss on his mouth. “In that case, I will go for a ride around here with Arthur. See if there’s anything to hunt.”

He watched Elio’s face, as the boy nodded, and then Oliver leant down, kissed his other nipple through his shirt - sucked on it a little, he couldn’t be blamed for it if Elio didn’t protest - and then went to wear his riding and hunting gear, calling behind himself ‘that stew better be really good!’ before leaving the cabin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The air was pleasant, fresh and crispy, and Oliver indulged into a slow walk with Arthur through the woods around the house, listening to the birds chirping, trying to spot any bigger ones that were worth catching.

Arthur’s ears were very mobile that day - turning this way and the other, with every noise and creak they heard - but Oliver didn’t think much of it; the warmer weather had turned the woods into a more lively place, and the horse was bound to be curious and attentive to every sound.

He usually never travelled too far down the hill, not past the river, but today, he decided he would.

He followed the stream of water as it crackled serenely, past pine trees and oaks which were just starting to grow back their leaves. Arthur walked slowly, his heard down, smelling the grass, the little, tiny yellow flowers that dotted the ground every few steps.

Until he lifted his head, all of a sudden - and Oliver knew he’d seen something.

“What is it, boy?”

A little bit like a dog, Arthur smelled the air; Oliver slowed him down, surveyed the area. The only strange thing, if it could be called that, was something that looked like it would have been a fire, on the ground by one of the large trees.

The ash footprint was circular, like it had been left by a bonfire, a recent one at that. Someone had clearly camped out there for the night - which wasn’t strange, in itself; but people didn’t really travel all the way up that hill, usually.

Oliver looked around. He couldn’t see anything else that indicated there still was someone around. The woods were quiet. There was no sign of a horse grazing, or of further camping. He led Arthur to walk around the area, observed carefully for any more hint that someone was still around. Found nothing.

“I can’t see anything, boy,” he told Arthur, patting his neck. The horse looked relaxed again. And so Oliver mounted him, and with one last look around, directed him back home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The stew had really been delicious, just like Elio promised.

“Well done, baby,” Oliver praised. “I really enjoyed that.”

Elio’s smile was wide and his eyes were gleaming, and the boy was clearly so full of pride and pleased to have made Oliver happy.

“I want to make it with rabbit next time,” Elio said, taking their wooden bowls to soak into the water bucket. “And I think it’s also really good with goat.”

“We’ll have goats, one day,” Oliver said. “So we’ll have the milk and the meat. And we’ll have hens, and maybe a pig.”

Elio smiled. “Like a proper ranch.”

Oliver eyed the fire, crackling away in the fireplace; Rufus sleeping curled up in front of it.

“Why don’t you come sit with me in that nice spot next to Rufus? And we can keep dreaming and planning this very own ranch of ours?”

He stood, picked up one of their blankets - watched as Elio checked the bowls once more, shook his hands of the water.

He nodded.

“Sounds like a great idea.”

And then he went to join Oliver, on a blanket on the floor, and they kissed for a little bit, laughed together when Oliver tickled him and made him squirm- until Rufus padded over and cried to be hugged, and Elio did, and so the three of them curled up together, half-napping, letting the fire pleasantly warm their noses. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The morning after, Oliver woke to the horses neighing outside.

He took a deep breath, and stood, with Elio’s eyes blinking and looking up sleepily at him.

“What’s happening?” the boy asked quietly.

“Just the horses making noise. I’m going to check what they’re up to. Go back to sleep.”

He pulled on trousers and a shirt and walked out; only to instantly know what the problem seemed to be.

“Lady’s somehow unhitched herself during the night and has ran away.” Oliver said, walking back in, grabbing his boots to wear. “I don’t think she’s far - I’m going to go and get her back.”

Elio’s eyes opened wider - and he rubbed one with the back of his hand, reached for his own trousers to cover his nudity.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. You stay here. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

In the end, it had been longer than a couple of minutes.

The whole thing in itself was weird - weird behaviour by Lady, she never walked away, and especially now that she had Belle to look after - and Oliver was frowning, but tried to tell himself not to overreact.

He found Lady not long after. Grazing by the river, calm. Fine.

Oliver tied a chord around her neck, led her back to the house for a few feet; until he heard it.

Rufus, barking madly, impatiently, urgently.

And then Elio’s voice.

Raised, screaming.

Oliver reached for his gun, immediately in defence mode, although his heart had gone from resting to thundering against the walls of his rib cage so fast that he felt light headed.

He walked briskly back to the cabin, amidst Rufus’s barking as it got closer and closer. He tried to figure out what could be happening; but Elio’s screams made his brain short circuit.

As the house came into view, so did six men. All dressed in black, all like the bandits they’d tried to avoid.

The remaining Mudbroods.

And one of them had Elio.

He was holding him against his body. An arm across Elio’s throat; the other hand, fingers sunk into Elio’s hair, pulling the curls back - so rough it was making the boy close his eyes in pain.

Rufus still barked - and the man pointed his gun at the dog, yelled at him to shut up.

“No!” Elio screamed again, tried to squirm, free himself from that hold - but to no avail.

And so Oliver cocked the gun; stepped in front of them, pointed the muzzle right at the head of the man who was holding his boy.

“Let him go. Right now,” Oliver ordered. Commanded. Ready to pull the trigger.

So ready.

And Elio whimpered, tried to claw at the hands that held him captive.

“Oliver,” he begged - unable to move.

His eyes wide, and terrified.

 


	38. What we can sacrifice

“Mister Oliver! We meet again.”

Colm’s voice was clear, calm, his lips tight into a sinister grin.The Mudbrood chief stood next to Elio and his captor, a carabine pointed to Oliver - his arm didn’t shake an inch.

“No one asked you to come here. Leave us alone.”

Oliver’s voice didn’t shake, either. He schooled his features into a mask, not wanting to give anything away - but he was terrified. A Mudbrood was holding Elio; a Mudbrood has his arm around Elio’s neck, was holding him by the hair with the other.

The other four all had their weapons out, too.

Oliver needed to buy time.

“Aw, come on, Oliver. We didn’t come here to shoot you. We were even so kind as to give you a reason to get away quietly. No shame, and all that. We take the boy, we leave, you do whatever the hell it is you do here.”

Colm’s creepy, cruel smile hadn’t left his face for a moment.

“We didn’t even shoot your dog. He’s so sweet, isn’t it?” Colm looked at Rufus, and one of his comrades walked towards the dog, who was still barking.

“No!!” Elio screamed again, squirmed with seemingly all the strength he had in his body.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The Mudbrood crooned next to Elio’s neck, pulling him back by his hair again, making him cry out.

Oliver saw red; as if all the hatred in the world, all the rancour and the venom he’d ever felt in his life had come back all at once, all in his chest, all for him to feel right at this moment. He wanted to kill them - he wanted to kill them all.

But he couldn’t risk Elio’s life.

“I don’t think Oliver wants to stay here without his loverboy,” Elio’s captor laughed, and his thick fingers pulled Elio’s curls again. “And I can’t blame him. I bet he’s fun. Look at this,” and he pulled Elio’s face back with his other hand, exposed his throat, made Elio whimper. “What is he? Fifteen, sixteen? Look at this skin, white like porcelain. Not a little virgin anymore, but I bet he’s very satisfying. Maybe we will try him.”

“I have no problems sending you all to hell,” Oliver snarled, taking a step forward - his heart hammering in his chest, his brain in protective mode, his teeth grinding in rage. Something in the back of his head told him he still needed to think, to strategise, he couldn’t just follow his emotions and let the Mudbrood bait him into rushed, wrong decisions. But he felt he would go insane if he saw his Elio being manhandled like that, for one moment more.

“I hardly think you have us to blame,” Colm said, still perfectly relaxed, the hand holding the gun waving in Oliver’s direction. “It was a friend of yours that told us where to find you.”

A look at the gang, at the horses with them, at the white Arabian that grunted nervously nearby, and Oliver knew who Colm was talking about. 

“Oh yeah. Your dear Albert. Gave us that pretty mount as a guarantee that he was speaking the truth,” Colm said. 

“We didn’t want to get the address wrong,” Elio’s captor laughed, and the rest of the gang snickered in response, like a pack of hyenas.

Oliver couldn’t say he was surprised. He couldn’t say he wasn’t expecting something of the sort.

And yet, having the confirmation of it was a definite blow to the heart.

He set his teeth, deciding to forget anything and everything that wasn’t vital and urgent right at that moment.

He needed to free Elio. He needed to have the boy back in his arms, to protect him and dry his tears. To stop his shaking.

To ask for his forgiveness, for not having looked after him better.

He held his gun up, pointed to the Mudbrood’s head. Tried to think of the best moment to fire; and then, Colm spoke again.

“Well, sorry, buddy. Been really nice to talk, but we need to go. Have a huge ransom to cash in.” The other Mudbroods laughed again. And then, almost in synchrony, they all raised their guns onto Oliver.

“I really don’t wanna shoot you, waste of bullets and all that, but - I guess I’ll have to.”

The roar of the gunshot was loud in Oliver’s ears.

He closed his eyes for a moment, waited for the pain to come. His brain tried to predict the location of the wound, how severe it was - how long he’d have, to shoot his gun again, to help Elio, before he lost consciousness. It was something he’d been trained to do.

And yet, there was no pain.

He opened his eyes again, and his brain remembered - he’d heard three gunshots. One from his own gun; one from someone else’s. Behind him.

Colm lay on the ground, dead - a gunshot wound right in the middle of his face.

Elio’s captor, also dead, his hand bloodied, a hole in his throat.

And Elio was crouched to the ground - red stains on him, but it wasn’t his own blood, Oliver could tell.

Next to him, a Mudbrood still stood - gun still in his hand, but he was shaking like a leaf.

“I knew you were fucking cowards. All of you!” Oliver roared, rage coming back as the shock of the moment dissipated. He didn’t even register his finger pulling the trigger. He just knew he did it - shot the guy, right in the chest, while the fool stood there and did nothing to defend himself.

Another gunshot resonated, from behind Oliver and directed at the other Mudbrood - another one to the ground. And then two more - one from Oliver, one from the stranger - and then all the Mudbroods were dead. 

Oliver’s instinct was to run to Elio, check that he was okay, hold him to his chest, thank all the gods in all heavens that he was alive. 

But he knew he couldn’t. He knew there was something else to take care of, first.

“And now, we’re finally free of them.”

Albert’s voice - calm, confident, just like Colm’s had been.

It wasn’t a surprise for Oliver, and when he turned around, faced his fellow gang member, the man who’d taught him everything and whom he’d always trusted; when he did, he already knew what to say.

“You. It was you. You did this to us.”

“And look at this, now? We’ve six dead Mudbroods. We’ve wiped them all out. It was the perfect plan.” Albert waved his hand towards the corpses on the ground, held his gun pointed down. 

“The perfect plan,” Oliver repeated, bitterly. “The perfect plan. The perfect plan, to you, is the one that puts my life at risk. The plan that almost kills me - the plan that almost kills Elio.”

“You know that there’s always some price to pay.” Albert’s eyebrows raised as he spoke. As if he was talking about a failed hunting mission - a deer that had got away. “You should know, by now, what’s important and what’s not. You should know what we can sacrifice.”

Oliver had never known that a feeling of betrayal could cause a burning, right in the chest. Something that wiped away all common sense, all logic - all memories and all future promises. He hadn’t known, but he knew now: when this feeling, this acid burning in his limbs, took charge of his whole being and made him walk to Albert, fasten a hand around the older man’s throat; push him back until he fell to the ground, Oliver on top of him, snarling.

“Don’t you dare speak for me. This has always been about you! Everything you’ve done, everything you’ve taught me, the others, all of us! It’s always been about what benefited you, what brought you money, what kept you alive! You never gave a fuck about any of us! You never gave a fuck about me!”

He slammed the man’s head to the ground, once, twice - his eyes red rimmed, his heart beating in rage, hurt, regret - vengeance.

Albert didn’t try to stop him. He had his usual stoic demeanour - even now, with a bloody nose, with dust in his hair and on his clothes - with Oliver’s thumb pushing on his windpipe.

“Oliver.”

It was like he could hear Elio, from somewhere, outside the fog on his head.

It was like hearing his voice made him slowly float back into his own body; and he found himself, hand on Albert’s throat, knees on his sternum, breathing so hard he was almost lightheaded.

“Let him go. You’re not like him. You - don’t want to be like him.”

The boy’s voice was quiet, tentative - still trembling. But it was sure. Firm, in its intention.

It made Oliver snap back - pull himself up to standing, take a step back, look down at the man pathetically laying and spluttering on the ground.

Oliver didn’t care about him one bit. In one last bout of caution, he kicked Albert’s gun out of his hand, and away; and then he did what his instinct had been screaming at him to do - he turned towards Elio, who stood there, dusty and teary, but with his chin up, his green eyes wide and brave.

He walked towards him and took him into his arms, holding him against his body, letting relief flood him at feeling Elio warm, unhurt. He buried his face into the boy’s neck; “I love you,” he told him, over, and over, and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this helps a little with the cliffhanger... x


	39. I Love You

Elio let Oliver hold him. Listened to the lullaby of I love yous that his husband whispered against his neck, ran his fingers through Oliver’s hair, and bit his lower lip.

He was frowning while he watched Albert, as the man got back up to his feet not far from them.

Elio’s gaze, as he stared at him, was hard. He had his chin up.

He wasn’t scared; not anymore. He wasn’t scared now, now that Albert’s plan had become plain for all to see, now that his true nature had been fully uncovered, clear, in front of Oliver’s eyes.

Elio was angry for his husband. He didn’t deserve the betrayal. Nobody did - but Oliver, especially.

And Elio felt so protective of him - which, in turn, made him feel strong.

Picking up his hat from the ground, swatting the dust off of it, meekly walking back to his horse, made Albert look small - pathetic.

The noise of the horse spurred into a gallop, the sound of its hooves getting fainter and fainter as it left, made Oliver lift his head, pull back to hold Elio’s face in his hands.

Elio knew he looked messy. His hair was knotted and dusty, his mouth and cheek swollen, red, from when the Mudbrood had slapped him across the face before dragging him out of the house.

“I’m okay,” Elio nodded, because he knew Oliver was going to ask. He kissed Oliver’s thumb that was stroking his lower lip, carefully. “Albert has left.”

Oliver nodded. Of course, he’d heard the horse galloping away.

“We need to go.” Oliver said. His hands left Elio’s face, and he knelt down to pick up his discarded gun. Suddenly, he looked frantic - on a mission.

He walked into the house, and Elio followed him.

“Oliver...”

“We need to leave, Elio. Right now. Get all your stuff - get Rufus - the essentials. We’ll load the wagon and leave.”

He seemed in such a rush, so anxious - and Elio frowned, worried, tried to reach out for him.

“Oliver...”

“We can’t stay here, Elio! Do as I say. Now.”

He walked to the chest where he kept his ammo, knelt down to retrieve guns and bullets - walked to the other side of the room where their riding gear was kept.

“Oliver,” Elio tried again. Begged. “Oliver, please. I love you, please, listen to me.”

Oliver didn’t look at him, only said “Elio, do as I say.”

“Oliver. Please.” Elio begged again. His eyes wide, bright. He hated to see Oliver like that - he’d never seen him like that.

Panicking.

He took a step towards him; exhaled, in relief, when Oliver didn’t pull back.

“Oliver. Please, listen.” He walked closer, until he could look up into Oliver’s eyes properly. He lifted a hand, placed its palm over Oliver’s cheek, the short beard coarse against his skin. “I love you. I love you. We’re okay. They’re gone, we don’t - we don’t have to run.”

Oliver looked back at him, and his eyes were clear, his expression grave.

“Elio...”

“Please, Oliver,” Elio asked again.

He wasn’t scared. They shouldn’t be scared. That was their house. Perhaps not forever - perhaps only for a few more days. But he was tired of having to escape, of having to take everything and leave, at the drop of a hat.

The Mudbroods were dead, the gang no longer existed. And if Albert had a grudge to hold, then they could deal with him.

They were going to leave, but on their own terms.

“I love you. Please let us have more time. We can get ready, get everything ready, Rufus and the horses. Get all our stuff. We just need some more time.” He wanted to hug Oliver, to make him feel how calm, how sure he was - but he didn’t want to break the eye contact. “We’ve been happy, here.”

He’d said everything he needed to say. Ultimately, it was going to be Oliver’s decision - they were going to do what he chose, Elio would need to obey. But he hoped he’d managed to make his case.

They had been happy, there. In that cabin.

They had Arthur, Lady and Belle. They had Rufus. They had the lake nearby, where they swam and made love in warm mornings. They had their handmade bed and kitchen table; the stove that had begun to smell of blueberry cobbler.

The tiny patch of terrain outside which Elio had started to prepare for sowing their seeds. He felt tears sting at his eyes, if he thought about what could have been.

Oliver held his gaze for the longest of times.

Then, he looked down. His tight expression relented.

“I want us to leave in a week,” he murmured, quietly. He stepped closer, took Elio back into his arms - and the boy hugged him back, hands in his hair. “You hear me?” Oliver spoke again.

Elio took a deep breath, and though his chest hurt, he was relieved. “Yeah,” he nodded against Oliver’s neck.

They kissed. A long, slow kiss. Elio knew that Oliver wanted it to feel better, to feel reassured. As if he wanted to feel that they both were still alive, that nothing had changed.

Elio closed his eyes, opened his mouth for his husband, let the kiss go on for as long as Oliver needed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It had certainly been the adrenaline of the moment, but once Oliver had calmed down, once they’d both calmed down, they could take stock of their bodies and their injuries - and that’s when they noticed the blood on the side of Oliver’s left thigh, the fabric of his trousers soaked through.

Though Oliver protested it was nothing - and it surely was, just a graze from a bullet ricocheting off a rock - Elio made him sit down, cleaned the wound, pressed a medicated cloth over it.

Once he’d got Oliver to lay down on the bed, Elio picked Rufus up, pushed his face into the thick fur on the puppy’s neck. Rufus whined and squirmed, licked Elio’s mouth, his tail wagging. Elio put him down and filled his bowl. And then, he went to lie down next to Oliver.

“Are you okay?” the boy murmured quietly,looking up at Oliver, their faces really close as they lay side by side.

Oliver sighed. “Yeah, I told you. I’m fine.”

“But are you really, really okay? What happened with Albert, you know. It’s - hard.” Elio stared into his husband’s eyes, waiting. 

And Oliver’s smile, then, was tender.

“When exactly did you become so wise?” he asked, quietly, stroking Elio’s lower lip with a thumb.

Elio smiled back, couldn’t help it - although he decided to pretend to be put out by the remark. “Maybe I’ve always been wise and grown up, don’t you think?,” he retorted, pointing with his index finger against Oliver’s chest.

Then, he turned serious again. “I don’t want you to be upset.”

He received another long sigh in response.

“I’ll be fine.” Oliver promised.

And Elio decided not to probe further - not for now.

He reached out, kissed Oliver. Slow, at first; then, when the older man deepened the kiss, Elio followed, kissed back. He let his hand slide down Oliver’s body until he could touch between his legs, feel his erection, huge and swollen and ready.

When they broke the kiss and Elio gazed into this eyes again, Oliver looked almost sheepish - almost ashamed of his body’s response, of his desire even after such a traumatic event for the both of them.

But Elio decided he wouldn’t be deterred. He wasn’t going to let anything - the Mudbroods, Albert, nothing - get in between them, spoil their relationship, their every day, their connection.

“What do you want?” Elio murmured, quietly, using the most seductive tone he could, the one he’d learnt Oliver liked. “My mouth? My body?”

Oliver closed his eyes, but didn’t miss a beat.

“Inside you. Please.”

Elio nodded.

Gently, he nudged Oliver to lie back on the bed. He placed the older man’s arms up, on the pillow on each side of his head; he unlatched his own pants, pushed them down his legs, reached out to pull Oliver out of his trousers.

Oliver was already so hard, and Elio slicked him up quickly and then straddled him. Oliver closed his eyes; Elio watched his face carefully, as he lowered himself down, biting his lower lip, breathing through the initial slight discomfort, because he didn’t want to miss even one second of Oliver’s expression.

Then, his hands on Oliver’s chest for support, Elio moved up and down, slowly, frowning, focused, moaning at every downward stroke that stabbed so deeply inside him and made him shiver.

For once, Oliver lay there, letting Elio take control, letting the boy take him to the brink, and over it. “Close,” he only murmured a little while later, his eyes closed - and Elio nodded, sweaty curls plastered to his forehead, redoubled the efforts to bring Oliver to ecstasy with his own body. 

He felt Oliver’s orgasm as it poured warm inside his body. “I love you,” he murmured, to his husband, as Oliver breathed hard, held his hands around Elio’s hips to keep him in place, and connected to him.


	40. Aurora

The days went by, quickly.

Elio started to pack up everything he could.

Their clothes, blankets, utensils, provisions; his books, Rufus’ makeshift toys. He planned to take their pillows with them - but they were going to have to leave the mattress behind, and their bed frame, of course. The wood stove had been such a luxury, he didn’t know if it would happen to them again.

He didn’t hide that, as the hours of that week went by, he found himself hoping that Oliver would change his mind. Elio understood why they needed to leave; now that their location had been discovered, they posed too much of an easy target for anyone with that information and with less than honourable intentions.

However, he didn’t know where Oliver planned for them to go. And, in the midst of the preparations, Elio had honestly not found a chance to ask, to have a proper, open conversation about it.

Oliver seemed way less conflicted about leaving, than Elio was. He went hunting, and fishing during the day, made love to Elio at night, as if nothing was going to change. Elio supposed Oliver was used to that nomadic lifestyle, to having to change his surroundings often. It was different for Elio: this was the first time he’d stayed in one place for that long, aside from when he was with his parents.

This was the place where he and Oliver had gotten married.

On their second to last day in the cabin, waiting for Oliver to return from hunting, Elio sat by the patch of terrain meant to be for their vegetable garden.

He watched Rufus, as the dog dug up a hole for one of the bones he’d chewed, barked excitedly every time he saw a movement in the shrubs, a bird flying off from a branch.

Elio felt tears prick at his eyes. He wiped at them, angrily, frowning. He wasn’t that person anymore - that child. He wouldn’t sit there, and cry, and feel sorry for himself, like he would have even just a few months ago, when he would have pouted until he got what he wanted. He was a different person now. He was an adult, now.

Rufus was rolling around on the grass nearby, and Elio breathed deep, blinked away the last veil of tears.

“Come on, Rufus,” he called, standing up. “Let’s go inside and make some dinner for you and Oliver.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the last day, Elio woke really early.

The sun was about to rise, dawn having just started to colour the sky with white and pink.

Quietly, Elio untangled himself from Oliver, still asleep, and stood from the bed, picked up a blanket to cover himself with, and walked to the window. Rufus was still sleeping, too, at the foot of the bed, and only opened one eye when he saw Elio awake, but decided to stir and go back to his slumber.

For a while Elio just stood quietly by the window, watching the rays of the sun turning more colourful and confident, watching as the sky gradually lost the indigo of the night and turned violet, then blue.

He would have wanted to walk out, see it from the highest point of the hill, feel the chilly air on his skin; but he didn’t feel like doing something Oliver wasn’t completely happy with. Oliver still worried about him, alone, outside.

And so Elio remained indoors, quiet and still. Thinking about their house. Thinking this would be the last day they’d ever see it. The last dawn he would watch from that place.

“Why’re you up already?”

Oliver’s voice was gruff with sleep. Elio turned around for a moment, to see the older man sat on the bed, blanket covering him up to his navel - while he rubbed his face, trying to wake up completely.

“Sorry.” Elio sighed, turned back towards the window. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Elio didn’t see him, but heard him stand up, walk closer - wrap his arms around him from behind. Oliver’s breath was warm as he nuzzled Elio’s nape with his mouth, and Elio closed his eyes, let his body respond as it always did when Oliver held him - with a long, deep shiver.

“Nervous about leaving?”

Oliver’s voice was calm. Quietly waiting for Elio to answer.

And Elio decided to do so with a question of his own.

“Where are we going, Oliver?”

It was hard for him to conceal the worry, the anxiety about that change. The little bit of hurt, perhaps, of anger that they were being made to leave, that they couldn’t make their own decision, leave when they wanted, instead of having to flee. All these feelings were evident in his tone, and Elio bit his lip, regretted it as soon as he spoke. It wasn’t Oliver’s fault. He didn’t deserve Elio being annoyed at him.

Elio waited. Expected a little reprimand, perhaps Oliver reminding him that he was the one who knew best - that, after all, Elio didn’t even know where they were on the map right now, didn’t really have any experience of any place other than the one he grew up in - and even then, he’d never had to learn roads, streets and directions.

Instead, Oliver pulled him back, closer, into his chest. One of his hands slid under the blanket, and over Elio’s flat abdomen, palm covering it, warm.

“There’s this town. It’s called Aurora Rock, south-east from here. I lived there when I was, I don’t know, fifteen, sixteen. It’s near Fort Smith, but smaller. Safer. Mostly made of farmers and ranchers.”

Oliver paused for a moment, and Elio nodded, though his eyes were still fixed on the sky now fully transitioning into morning.

“I think there’s still someone there who might know me. I can rent a place for us, find a job. Maybe.”

Elio’s ears perked up at that. He turned back, very slightly.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It’s time to have a steady income. Be a little safer. Don’t you think?”

There were many things Elio could think of, right at that moment, and one of them was that he’d never said Oliver would willingly give up his outlaw life. It was, of course, really good news.

“So... no more looting? No more robbing?” Elio asked, turning to the side to speak to Oliver, still behind him.

“If I can. No more.” Oliver turned him around, gently, so that Elio was facing him. He held him by his hips, while Elio held the hems of the blanket closed across his body.

“I don’t want to see you sad.” Oliver leant his forehead against Elio’s. He looked into the boy’s eyes, smiled at him. “You’ve - you’re everything I need. Everything I will ever, ever need. You’ve made me so happy. I’m - I’m so lucky, to have you.”

It was such a free, such a heartfelt confession - that Elio’s heart squeezed around it, around the words. Around Oliver, who wanted to make him feel better, wanted him to know exactly what he meant to him.

When they kissed, Elio let himself be taken in. Let himself forget what was happening, what was about to happen.

He was already completely naked under the blanket and so he let it fall to the floor, wrapped his arms around Oliver’s neck, let him wrap his thighs around Oliver’s waist.

There was still time to be together, one last time, before they had to leave everything behind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Have you loaded everything?” Elio asked a couple of hours later, as they got ready to leave.

“Everything. And hitched Arthur to the wagon. Just need to tie Belle to it.”

Elio nodded, bent down to pick up a yapping, hyper energetic Rufus. “What about Lady?” he asked, looking towards the red horse, still grazing quietly under their wooden canopy.

Oliver smiled, and walked over to him.

“I was thinking that, perhaps... you’d like to ride her, for a bit? While I lead the wagon?”

Elio was just about to go and place Rufus on the carriage, but stopped instead, his eyes going wide, like saucers.

“What?”

“Only if you want to. You don’t have to.”

“No, no, I want to!” Elio smiled, a huge smile splitting his face, from ear to ear. 

Oliver was letting him ride Lady. Ride her alongside the wagon - like a real rancher, like a real cowboy.

Elio could not believe it.

“Alright, then,” Oliver nodded, smiling, as well. He walked over to Lady, fastened the bridle and reins on her, then led her towards the wagon. “But, on one condition,” he said, looked at Elio severely. “You ride right by me. No going ahead, no staying behind. No going faster. And if you get tired, you tell me, and you come and sit next to me on the wagon.”

Elio smiled, and nodded excitedly.

“Yes, yes, understood, I promise. Thank you, thank you.”

He got Rufus on the wagon, and then went to hug Lady’s neck, ruffled her mane. Leaving was still going to be sad, but at least, now he had something to occupy his mind with - and something to feel more like the rancher he aspired to be.


	41. A new life

They settled in to a small cottage, just outside town.

In a bout of good luck, stopping by the post office, Oliver was told about it - that it had recently been vacated, that the owner was looking for a tenant. It was a two-storey house, furnished with all the essentials: a table, chairs, a stove, even a tiny sofa downstairs; and a bed and wardrobe on the floor upstairs.

It was surrounded by a fenced piece of ground which was large enough to host a vegetable garden, a stable, a chicken coop.

And in leaving, the previous tenant had also left vacant a job for a carpenter.

Oliver had done various different jobs since leaving home as a child - and really, any would do at the moment, to have enough money to cover the rent of their new place.

The whole thing was a happy - and welcome - coincidence.

Oliver watched Elio work to make their new house warmer, more familiar - he knew the boy really missed their little cottage in the mountains. But, by the end of their first week, their new living spaces already felt more theirs. Even telling Rufus off for trying to chew the legs of their chairs, even watching the same wagons drive by the road in front of the cottage in the early morning, had already become familiar occurrences.

Oliver went to work in the early hours of every day, and returned in the evening. Elio cooked for them; the first few days he’d really gotten into their new kitchen, and occupied his time trying it out - making Oliver smile.

In the evening, they read; they sat on the couch, in each other’s arms, talking about their day.

Oliver observed Elio carefully. He wanted to make sure that the boy was happy - or at least, not too homesick.

“I’m okay,” Elio said, one night - playfully stroking Oliver’s mouth with his finger, leaning against him on the sofa, Oliver’s arm around his waist. “I’m going to start planting for our garden tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help, baby. I have to work,” Oliver said, kissed Elio’s finger.

Elio shook his head.

“That’s okay. Can we get chickens, soon?”

Oliver chuckled. “You really don’t waste time, huh?”

Elio bit his lip, his eyes mischievous.

“As soon as we have some money. You know we spent everything on rent and deposit,” Oliver reminded. Elio rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t serious, and Oliver knew it.

He nudged Elio to lie back on the sofa, and leant over him, holding the boy’s hands flat at either side of his head.

“Let’s go into town, on Saturday. We can have a look around. Do something fun?”

Elio’s eyes sparkled, and he smiled, a wide smile.

“I love you.”

Oliver smiled, too. “I love you,” he echoed, and then kissed his young husband, slow and warm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On Saturday, Oliver’s only free day, they took Arthur and Lady and headed into town. Hitched the horses where the main road begun, and walked the rest of the way.

They couldn’t hold hands, but Oliver made sure he had his palm on the small of Elio’s back whenever he could; it was almost good enough.

They visited the general store, the gunsmith and the taylor, only browsed around, for now, just to get Elio - and Oliver - acquainted with the place. They stopped by the saloon for a glass of beer for Oliver and one of cider for Elio.

Aurora Rock seemed like a busy, friendly town. It had improved, since Oliver had been there last.

“Ohhhh,” Elio exclaimed, as they walked past a shop with a glass window, his eyes going wide with excitement. “A photographer! Please, please can we have our picture taken?”

He was looking at Oliver with such enthusiasm on his face that the older man couldn’t find it in himself to say no.

“If we must,” he replied, playfully, letting Elio pull him into the shop.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The photographer, named Vincent, was someone who clearly enjoyed his job very much.

The shop had photos of people, houses, even animals, framed and hung over all its walls. Vincent wore a black dress shirt and black trousers. He had well kept moustaches and really dark, short hair. Clearly someone who cared about his appearance, too.

“You’re such a handsome pair!” Vincent praised as soon as they’d introduced themselves. “Come, let’s find a backdrop and a pose for your lovely picture.”

Oliver found that he was quite the shy one, when it came to being the center of attention.

Vincent had, of course, an artistic streak, one he followed with a dedication which was almost religious. He placed them in front the backdrop - a view from a hill, blue sky above it, chosen by Elio because it reminded him of their previous home - adjusted their hair, their shirts and their expressions. Told them they looked beautiful, told them to stay still, not move until he said.

A while later, and the photo was ready.

Elio’s eyes were glittering, as he stared at their picture; the hand that held it was trembling, and he seemed so pleased and overwhelmed that Oliver very happily paid the five cents that they owed Vincent for the service.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I wish you didn’t have to work tomorrow. I wish we could go for another walk into town, like today,” Elio chanted once they were back home. He was still holding their photo, staring at it, almost disbelieving.

Oliver sighed. “Well. I wish that, too.”

“My parents had pictures. Like, a few of them. I’m in some too,” Elio said, almost talking to himself as he changed the subject.

“We’ll show them this one,” Oliver murmured, taking a couple of steps towards him. Stroking a strand of curls back behind Elio’s ear.

Elio looked up at him, a little startled. As if he’d never considered that possibility; the possibility to see them again.

He looked back down, at the picture, shrugged minutely. “I wonder where they are.”

Oliver didn’t know. Couldn’t know.

If he were to be honest, he hadn’t really thought about it - for weeks, now.

Yes, he’d wanted to reunite the boy with his family at the start, when he’d found him and rescued him. But then, once they’d started their life together, that thought had fallen to the back of his mind. He himself hadn’t really seen his mother, after he left home. And in his experience people didn’t really spend time with their parents once they got married.

He wasn’t really sure what to say. And so, when Elio placed the photo back down on the table, Oliver circled his waist with an arm, pushed his face into the crook of Elio’s shoulder. His beard had been growing, blonde and coarse, and he let it rub against the delicate skin of the boy’s collarbone.

“Scratchy,” Elio murmured, sheepishly trying to get away - but Oliver held him tighter.

“Should I shave it off, then?”

He watched, amused, as Elio’s eyes widened. 

“No,” the boy moaned softly, when Oliver started kissing his collarbone again. “No. I like it like this.”

“You like it, huh?” Oliver’s voice was like a purr.

Elio held on to Oliver’s shoulders, but leant back with his head to give him better access.

“Oliver...don’t you want to have dinner? I need to make food...”

“Just tell me why you like it, and I’ll let you go,” Oliver challenged, with another purr. He wasn’t entirely sure he would be able to make good on his promise - but he was feeling mischievous, and he loved how playful Elio was being, too, loved how their relationship seemed to have only gained from yet another change.

Elio’s eyes glittered again, and the boy pulled back a little, held Oliver’s face into his hands, rubbed his fingers through the hairs of his beard.

“I like it,” Elio whispered, as if he was telling him a secret, “when you put your tongue inside me.”

And with that, he pecked Oliver on the mouth and then made a quick escape, giggling - and Oliver was left there, his arms empty of Elio but his mind full of vivid images of them tangled together, making love, right there on the floor of their new house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! If you have read until here, and are thinking of just closing the page, please don’t! Leave me a comment first - tell me if you liked it? What do you think?
> 
> It’s so important to me! 
> 
> Thanks xx


	42. A walk into town

On a warm, sunny day - the sign that summer was really not too far away now - Elio got Lady ready, and rode her into town to visit the general store for supplies.

He liked that the cluster of shops and houses that made up Aurora Rock wasn’t far away from their cottage - yet, at the same time, they weren’t in the middle of town, and so they had all the space they needed to, one day, build a little ranch.

Not that Elio allowed himself to dream about that, just yet. He didn’t know how long they’d reside there for - it was too early to be sure, and he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

But Oliver was okay with Elio going into town, while he was at work, as long as it wasn’t for long, and as long as Elio promised to be really careful.

Aurora Rock was safe - safer than everywhere else Elio had been so far. He wasn’t nervous venturing out alone, during the day, in the morning like now when people were out and about, shopping and conversing, going to church, buying and selling animals.

Elio hitched Lady to a nearby post, and then made his way towards the general store - when a familiar voice called out to him.

“Hello! Hello, there?”

Elio turned around - and saw Vincent. The photographer, from a few days prior, the one with the strange, distinguished moustache, the one with the frilly clothes.

He was wearing black today, too, and as he approached Elio, the boy didn’t really feel like avoiding him. He was nice, he was friendly.

“Sorry to barge on you like this.” Vincent apologised, a little smile on his face. “I just saw you and thought I’d say hi. I was just wondering how you and your friend were settling in.”

Elio smiled politely, too. Vincent was amusing.

“Good, thanks. We’re settling in good. Just figuring out - the town, now.”

“Ah, yes,” Vincent nodded, almost solemnly. “I was a newbie here too, some three years ago! I know how it feels. I’d love to show you around, if you like?”

Elio bit his lower lip. It wasn’t really in his plans - he’d said he would go to the store, buy sugar, eggs and salt, and go back home.

But it wasn’t even mid-morning yet. It would still be hours before the evening, before Oliver got back from work. Elio would be alone until then, with only Rufus to talk to; he didn’t mind killing some time with a walk in town, learning about the places there.

As long as it was quick, he didn’t see anything wrong with it.

“Sure. I only know the store, and the butcher - and I think I saw that the doctor is at the end of this road?”

Vincent smiled, and nodded.

“Correct! Not the most exciting town, granted. But some nice subjects to photograph!” He chuckled, and then nodded towards the main road. “It would be my pleasure to show you around.”

Elio nodded. It was fine - they were in the middle of a busy street, and Vincent was the most harmless person he’d ever met. He followed him, as the man started talking, quickly, enthusiastically, like a consummated tour guide.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

About an hour later, and they’d walked through all the main streets of Aurora Rocks.

Elio discovered that the town had a bathhouse, a veterinarian, laundry and barber. The school was next to the church, which had the tiniest cemetery laid behind it. Vincent had said there was a swamp, five minutes riding from the other end of town, and that some people lived there in tents. He’d assured Elio there were no crocodiles, but the boy had still been amazed.

“Listen,” Vincent said once he walked Elio back to his horse. “I saw you, the other day, at my studio. I think you have a real artistic eye, you’re very creative - you really got my vision, that day.”

“Ah. Thanks,” Elio replied, kind of flustered. He didn’t know - no one had ever mentioned he might have such a skill.

“You see, I work alone, and I might need a helper. I would pay you,” Vincent specified straight away, when Elio frowned at him. “It would be a remunerated job, of course.”

Elio hesitated a moment. Then, he shook his head.

“I - I don’t have the time - I have my house to look after, I need to - I need to cook, and-“

“It would only be for a couple of hours every day,” Vincent interrupted. “Just to help me with the printing, with my customers. You’d be so good at finding out how they want their photograph to be.”

Elio bit his lip. So conflicted.

It was flattering to be told he was artistic. That he had a talent. When he was with his parents, he used to play the piano, and draw - he enjoyed the arts, these genteel pastimes that could only be afforded by people with his family’s background and financial means.

But after he left, aside from reading, he hadn’t been able to indulge in any of his passions - hadn’t had any creative outlet, didn’t think he needed them, really.

Photography wasn’t his main interest, that was true, but could definitely be interesting.

“Yeah, why not,” Elio smiled, nodded.

He’d speak to Oliver that night; he’d deal with it then.

“Excellent!,” Vincent grinned, clapped his hands together in excitement. “Come this Thursday, at ten in the morning? You remember where my studio is, right?”

“Yeah,” Elio nodded. Then, he shook Vincent’s hand. “See you there.”

And he turned Lady back around, trying to keep a smile on his face for as long as Vincent could see him, and then letting his jaw set once he was well on his way home.

He didn’t know what Oliver was going to say, but he could feel it wasn’t going to be the easiest of conversations.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver returned late, and tired, and hungry.

His hands and clothes were covered in dust, but Elio still let him pull him to himself for a kiss, didn’t mind his sweat and dirt - he’d missed Oliver a lot.

Elio had become a pro at cooking meat - so while Oliver washed himself in the water bucket, Elio finished preparing his mutton roast in the Dutch oven they’d recently purchased for half of the price from the chuckwagon in town.

“This was delicious. Thank you, my love,” Oliver praised after they ate their dinner, quietly.

And as always, Elio’s cheeks coloured at the compliment.

“You work so hard,” Elio said, letting Oliver pull him against his chest, Oliver still sat at the table. “I just want you to feel better when you get home.”

Oliver’s hands rested on Elio’s waist, and the older man looked up at him. “I do. And you’re wonderful.”

Elio let Oliver wrap his arms around him. Push his mouth against Elio’s chest. He felt him take a deep breath, watched him close his eyes; almost already asleep.

It was late, nearly nine in the evening already. Oliver must be exhausted.

And Elio sighed, softly. Not the best moment to talk to him about his idea.

“Let’s go to bed,” Elio suggested, stroking Oliver’s hair gently to make him open his eyes.

The older man nodded against him.

“Yeah. Though I think I’ll be asleep again as soon as I lay down... I’m sorry, baby. I really wanted to be with you tonight.”

Elio shook his head, nudged Oliver to stand up, started unbuttoning his shirt for the night.

“It’s okay. Wake me tomorrow, before you go to work.”

And, true to what Oliver had warned him of, the older man closed his eyes as soon as he lay his head on the pillow, only nodding to show Elio that he’d heard his words - and was asleep in seconds, leaving Elio to clean up the table and join him in bed, quietly, a few minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments to the previous chapter! I read and loved them all. 
> 
> They make me want to update faster, so please - keep telling me what you think!!! X


	43. Doing my job

Elio woke before Oliver did.

Dawn hadn’t even broken yet, the sky still dark.

Oliver started work by six in the morning - Elio guessed it must be around five, now, and so he turned on the bed, stroked Oliver’s arm that was wrapped around Elio’s waist while the older man slept. Elio blinked, watched him - his profile, the long eyelashes fanned out on his cheeks.

He sighed.

He didn’t know why he felt so nervous to talk to Oliver about his job offer. Even after sleeping on it, even after a whole night during which he’d thought about it, before falling asleep, as Oliver already breathed quietly next to him; he still couldn’t see anything wrong in what he’d been proposed. He didn’t think Vincent was untrustworthy. He’d tried to find reasons why Oliver might discourage him, but he couldn’t find really valid ones.

Of course, this didn’t mean Oliver would be all for it.

Their plan, as they’d discussed it, was that they would have a ranch. Both work to keep it, doing the tasks they knew how to do. Oliver was skilled in manual labour, he was strong and tireless, didn’t mind dust, debris and harsh conditions. Elio liked to decorate, furnish and cook; he liked to look after both Oliver and their animals.

So, it worked.

They hadn’t planned for Elio to find a job, and so the boy didn’t know how Oliver would react to the news.

Especially once he told him that he’d already accepted it.

“Mmh. Good morning,” Oliver mumbled, a sleepy half smile on his face, his eyes still closed as he pulled Elio closer to him, and nuzzled his neck.

Elio smiled. “Good morning.”

“I was meant to wake you up...”

Even though still dozy and somnolent, Oliver kissed the side of Elio’s neck, purred against him - his mind, it seemed, already jumping to what they’d said they’d catch up on from the night before.

“Before - before you go to work, can I ask you something?”

Elio’s voice was quiet, and it trembled a bit, though Elio hoped he’d hidden it well. From Oliver’s reaction, it didn’t seem like the older man had noticed.

“Mmh. Is it urgent?” He kissed more of Elio’s skin: under his chin, down his throat, on his shoulder.

“Not urgent, but...”

“Then can it wait? Baby?” Oliver’s eyes were closed once again, but he’d pulled up on his elbow, so he could hover over Elio, kiss up his chin and cheek until he reached the boy’s mouth.

Elio kissed him back, but then looked up at him when they parted.

“But maybe we can talk now,” he tried again. Oliver was kissing Elio’s naked chest. His eyes still shut; his voice was playfully grumpy when he responded - and Elio wondered if he’d heard him at all.

“Can a man make love to his beautiful husband, first? Before a hard day’s work...?”

He was being playful, awkwardly goofy. Elio didn’t have the heart to take him back to serious matters.

“You’re handsome, too,” he murmured, holding Oliver’s face in his hands, looking up at him.

His eyes still only open just a slit, Oliver took a deep breath, and smiled, whispered. “Then why are you denying me?”

“I’m not.” Elio opened his legs, made space for Oliver. Let him settle in between his thighs, wrapped them around his waist.

When Oliver kissed him again, he kissed back, emptied his mind of all those other thoughts, the worries, to concentrate on Oliver only, on their intimacy, on those few precious minutes they had together before his husband left, only to return hours and hours later.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio worked on his garden. It took him the morning and the best part of the afternoon, and that was good, because if not he would have very likely spent that time thinking about his conversation with Oliver, worrying about how to break the news to him.

He’d been planting seeds for the garden for a few days now, and the first, very tiny leaves were starting to sprout - and Elio looked at them excitedly, yelling at Rufus to not go close to them, to not even try to dig them out. He decided he would ask Oliver to build a small fence around that, as well, for the sole purpose of keeping out the mischievous pup.

Elio made some soup for dinner, and then, while it was cooking, he curled up on the couch, started re-reading one of his books. The first one Oliver had found for him, the one called ‘The Knight of the Woods.’

It seemed so long ago. Elio felt like he was such a different person, now. He was a child then - he was no longer one now.

His thoughts wandered. He thought about his parents. What would they think of him, now? What would they think of Oliver? Of them, being married?

Elio knew he missed them, a lot. He even missed Mafalda, although he knew she’d tell him off, if she saw him again, she would yell at him and tell him exactly how worried she’d been for him.

When Rufus started barking and wagging his tail towards the door, Elio knew Oliver was back.

He stood, put his book away, and then walked to the entrance, to kiss his husband hello once he turned the key in the lock and came in.

“How was today?” Elio asked, looking up and stroking a strand of hair back from Oliver’s forehead. Oliver’s hand snuck to rest on Elio’s spine, pulled him closer, and the older man hid his face into Elio’s neck, breathed in his scent.

“It was tiring. Let’s say I can’t wait until we have our ranch, and won’t have to do other jobs anymore.”

It wasn’t common for Oliver to complain, about anything - he usually just got on with what he needed to do. He must be really tired - and so Elio bit his lower lip, considered whether to speak to him tonight, give him another reason to worry.

But Thursday was in two days. If Elio was actually taking the job, he needed to start soon. He needed to tell Oliver.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After dinner, as Oliver sipped from a glass of whisky - he’d been given a bottle as a thank-you gift from a lady he had rebuilt a fence for. Elio had tried it, scrunched up his face, said it was too bitter for him - Elio sat across from him at the table. “Can we talk for a moment?” he asked - and Oliver raised his eyes on him, watched him curiously.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Elio reassured. “I just - I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes, nodded. “Okay?”

“Alright, so. Remember Vincent, the photographer?” Oliver nodded, and so Elio continued. “He’s - he said he needs a helper for his photography studio. He said having seen me the other day, he thinks I could be good tor it. That I have an eye, or something.” Oliver was frowning, and so Elio hastily added, “it would just be for a couple of hours a day, and he would pay me.”

Oliver was quiet for a few seconds.

“I thought you wanted to keep a ranch?” he asked, after.

“I do! I do. But I mean, in the meantime. While we save up the money. Just for a while.”

Oliver looked at him for a few moments. Didn’t say anything, and so Elio spoke again.

“He wants me to start on Thursday.”

He watched, as the older man looked down at his cup, his finger tapping on the glass, and then he cleared his throat, looked back up at Elio.

“How did he get in touch with you?”

It was a very legitimate question, but Elio realised he hadn’t even thought Oliver would ask.

“He - saw me in town. When I went to the general store.”

“And so he saw you, and just offered you a job?” Oliver asked. His tone, obviously suspicious - it made Elio nervous.

“No. He offered to show me around town. We walked for a bit, just in the main road. And then he told me about the job.”

There was silence. Elio’s hands, wrapped around the edge of the table, flexed, and the boy noticed after, tried to relax. He thought of something to do to look more at ease - the table still needed cleaning up from dinner. The bowls needed soaking in the bucket.

But before he could get on with his tasks, Oliver spoke.

“No.”

“No?” Elio blinked, confused.

“No. I don’t want you to do it.”

“What - why not?” Elio asked - and didn’t move, only looked straight at Oliver, who wasn’t returning his gaze, was looking at his glass, swishing the liquid inside.

“Because I don’t want you to. Because it isn’t safe, because you don’t need the money. We have money.”

“We have the money for the rent, we don’t have money for - for anything else. For the other things we want to buy!”

Oliver looked up at him.

“We’re saving up.”

“We’re saving up so slowly!” Elio pushed away from the table, closed his hands into tight fists. “It will take us years before we have enough for our ranch! We can’t even buy chickens, we can’t build a stable-“

“Do you want me to go back to looting, and robbing?” Oliver interrupted, raised his voice to match Elio’s. “Is this what you want?”

“No! Of course not! This is what I’m saying, if I work, then we’ll have more money without - without that!” Elio responded. His voice cracked; his fists were trembling. He felt angry tears push behind his eyelids.

Oliver held his eyes.

“I don’t need you to work. I don’t need you to work for someone we don’t even know, we don’t even know if we can trust him -“

“We don’t know anyone here, Oliver! How can we get to know people if we don’t - do anything? If you don’t let me do anything?” Elio’s voice was still raised, and he bit his lower lip, but couldn’t stop the sob that tore through his chest. The more he tried to suppress it, the more it was evident that he’d lost control of his emotions.

Oliver didn’t answer for a good minute. Just looked at him, and then sighed, stood from the table. Drank the last of his whisky from the glass.

“I said no, Elio.” His voice had returned to his previous, lower tone; it was an obvious, conscious effort on his part. “It’s best if you don’t do this. You have your work to do here, just like I do. We both have our tasks.”

He was looking at Elio - his eyes not hard, now, but rather serious, matter-of-fact.

Elio held his gaze for a few moments; pursed his lips, to stop them from trembling.

And then he turned around, went to tidy up on the wood stove. He kept quiet, but he was crying. Tears of frustration, of upset - he didn’t even know what; but they were making his shoulders hitch with each sob, they were making his chest hurt with his effort to keep quiet.

Behind him, he heard Oliver’s steps, coming closer. He heard his voice, low. Concerned.

“Elio...”

“I’m doing my job, Oliver,” Elio replied, couldn’t help himself. He felt so frustrated, so hurt. “Please leave me alone.”

He kept working, cleaning the stove, putting away their spoons - didn’t turn around. And then, he heard the front door open, then close, and knew that Oliver had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t be too hard on Oliver! Remember it’s a different time. He just wants to look after Elio - he thinks he’s doing his best. And remember - he’s not always wrong.... 
> 
> Please keep leaving me comments! I LOVE THEM xx


	44. The Good Things

By the time Oliver returned home that night, just after midnight - after sitting at the saloon, another whisky in hand, thinking - Elio was already asleep. 

He was still sleeping in the early morning when Oliver got up - or at least he pretended he was. Oliver knew the boy didn’t want to speak to him.

And so Oliver left for work.

He tried not to think. The work kept him busy - he had to travel around town, helping out wherever it was requested of him. Some jobs paid more, some paid less; luckily, today was a busy day.

Or he would have spent his time thinking about Elio. About what had happened, about the tears on the boy’s face.

He hated to see Elio cry, but especially, he hated it when he was crying because of Oliver, because of an argument between them - because Oliver had hurt him, even though involuntarily.

As busy as he was, Oliver couldn’t just keep Elio off his mind. Couldn’t help but wonder if he was okay; what he was doing - if he was still upset.

Yes: Oliver was jealous of Vincent.

Oliver was jealous of anyone clever enough to see how beautiful, how entrancing Elio was, both inside and out. Of course Oliver’d been piqued to know that Vincent had shown Elio around town, walked with him, like a friend, like someone who wanted to get to know him. Of course he’d been piqued to know that Vincent had got to spend time, alone, with his husband.

Of course.

But that was a gut reaction. Oliver didn’t say no to Elio’s proposal because of that. He’d said no, he’d discouraged it, because of what had happened to them until now - because of how dangerous life was in their world. Because there were perils that Elio didn’t consider, didn’t have experience of - and wouldn’t, if Oliver had anything to say about it.

Oliver didn’t want to put Elio in danger, when it wasn’t even necessary. They were fine with money. Oliver earned more than enough to pay their rent and to save up for their ranch.

It all sounded fine, made sense in Oliver’s mind - except for the nagging feeling of worry that was eating away at his mind. That told him that he’d hurt Elio - that taking that job was important to him, that he couldn’t prevent him from doing something outside of his duties of young homemaker.

Was Oliver being too strict? Too severe, in expecting Elio to do the other half of the job of making a life for themselves, the one that Oliver couldn’t dedicate himself to?

Sadie rode, went hunting, fishing - but Oliver knew she’d looked after her home when Jake was still alive.

Sadie rode, went hunting and fishing because she wanted to - she had a passion for everything of that sort. But Elio didn’t.

Was Oliver wrong, for thinking that Elio would be happier looking after their home - doing something far less dangerous? Was he wrong for wanting his young husband safe, well-cared for, protected?

As he waited at the carpenter’s house for his next task, Oliver sighed. He picked up his satchel; pulled something from inside of it.

He’d been working on this for a while now - something for Elio, something for the both of them. He’d planned to work on it a little longer - but it was nearly finished, and he wanted to give it to Elio tonight.

He looked at it, then wrapped it into its piece of cloth, and put it back into his satchel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Oliver returned home that night, Elio was by the stove. The house was warm, it smelled of nice food, Rufus barked and jumped excitedly at his feet; Oliver felt instantly better.

Elio didn’t turn around at all, and Oliver walked towards him. Placed his hands gently on the boy’s hips. “Do I not get a hello, tonight?” he asked, quietly, gently. Trying to make his tone as light as possible.

He watched Elio take a breath; and then the boy turned around, stepped on tiptoes to kiss Oliver on the mouth, obediently. A quick kiss, and then he turned around again, went to stir the contents of the pot cooking on the stove.

“Food’s almost ready,” he said only.

Oliver bit his lip, took another breath.

“Are you still angry with me?” he tried.

“Should I not be?” Elio didn’t miss a beat. Didn’t turn around towards Oliver at all.

And Oliver didn’t respond. Not straight away.

He walked towards the table. Pulled out the contents of his satchel, placed it on the wooden surface.

“I brought you something,” he said, looking up towards Elio. “Elio? Will you look at it?”he prompted, gently, when the boy didn’t react.

He didn’t lift his eyes from Elio as his husband eyed him and the wrapped, square package on the table. Slowly, he turned around fully and padded towards Oliver.

“Open it. Please,” the older man encouraged.

Elio raised his hands towards the package. Unwrapped it of the cloth that covered it, slowly.

And his eyes widened as Oliver’s present was slowly revealed to him.

Under the cloth, there was a picture frame. Made out of wood. Smoothed out and polished to perfection; the top moulding had the letters ‘E’ and ‘O’ carved into it. The bottom one, a date.

The date they exchanged their rings. 

“I’ve been working on this for the past few days. In between jobs. I thought it would be nice to have, for our photograph? So that we can hang it here, or maybe in the bedroom.” He looked at Elio’s eyes - the boy hadn’t moved, was still holding the frame. His soft, perfect mouth was open, in surprise.

“I was thinking of painting it, maybe. I didn’t have the time. But thought you can tell me how you want it, it would be better that way. I’m happy to finish it however you like.” He hesitated a moment; then concluded. “If you do like it.”

Suddenly, he felt very vulnerable. He’d thought it was a good idea, but maybe it wasn’t? Maybe Elio didn’t like it? Maybe Elio-

“Oh, Oliver. It’s so beautiful.”

Elio’s voice was a breath. Amazed, surprised. He still hadn’t moved, but the fingers of his right hand stroked the frame, the inscriptions, slowly, as if he wanted to commit them to memory.

“I can’t believe you made this,” he murmured.

Oliver could finally exhale.

“I’m glad you like it.” He hesitated again. “I... I wanted to remind you of how much I love you.”

Elio turned towards him. “I know that you love me,” he said, eyebrows knitted in thought.

Oliver placed his hands on the boy’s hips again, nudged Elio gently, made him turn fully to face him.

“But I don’t like that we fought. That you were crying. I hate to see you cry.”

Elio let Oliver look into his eyes, then shook his head.

“I was stupid. You were right.”

“Hey. You weren’t stupid,” Oliver interrupted, lifted his hands to cup the boy’s face carefully. “I’m just - you’re mine to protect, and I want to protect you. But maybe - maybe I was too hard on you.”

Elio just looked at him. His green eyes were wide, bright. There was red on his cheeks - Oliver didn’t know if it was the warmth in the kitchen, the emotion in their conversation, but it was lovely to see.

“This world is so harsh sometimes - it’s full of bad people, and I - I don’t want to see you harmed. Ever.”

Elio blinked. Didn’t look away from Oliver’s eyes. “I know,” he said, quietly.

“But I don’t - I don’t want to smother you.” Oliver stroked Elio’s cheeks with his thumbs.“I want you to talk to me. If there’s something you want to do, I - I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t - tell me what you want.”

Elio nodded. He smiled, almost imperceptibly, his eyes glittered.

“Can we talk tonight, then? After dinner?” He turned his face lightly, kissed Oliver’s thumb. “Will you sit with me on the couch, talk for a bit?”

Oliver smiled. Wide.

“I would love to.”

He leant down, brought his mouth to Elio’s. Kissed him, slowly, gently, for a long minute.

When they parted, Elio sighed. 

“Oliver, I love the picture frame. It’s beautiful. Thank you,” he breathed, voice dreamy. “Can we mount our photograph in it soon? I want to hang it in our bedroom.”

Oliver nodded. “Of course.”

“And now let’s eat. Before the food turns to mush.” Elio smiled, and kissed Oliver’s palm again, then nudged Oliver’s hands to let him go so that he could go tend to their food.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I used to play the piano, back home,” Elio said, later, as they sat on the couch, facing each other. “I had one in my parents’ living room. I liked it. I used to write music, too. I can’t believe I never told you.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Oliver’s arm was resting on the back of the sofa, and his fingers stroked Elio’s curls, played softly with the long strands. It made Elio close his eyes in pleasure.

“I used to draw and paint. I don’t know if I was as good with that as I was with the piano. But I enjoyed it.” He hesitated a moment. “Oliver. I didn’t want that job for any particular reason. I just - I almost forgot I used to have these - these pastimes. It’s been hard, lately, and... I’m sorry, I sound spoiled. Don’t I.”

Oliver smiled. Elio’s cheeks had gone red again.

“No, baby.” He twirled another curl around his finger. “You don’t. I just - I forget, sometimes. I’ve been on the lookout for danger for so long, that I forget about - the small things. The good things.”

Elio looked at him. His eyes were clear; understanding.

“I want to make life good for you,” Oliver spoke again. “I want to give you everything you want. Do everything I can to make you happy. To make you comfortable.”

“You are already doing that, Oliver.” Elio nuzzled into Oliver’s wrist, kissed it. “I’m very happy with you.”

“What if we get you a piano?” Oliver stroked Elio’s curls back from his forehead. “Would you like that?”

“Oliver,” Elio giggled. “You’re so crazy. Pianos are so expensive! And if we get one, we won’t have any space to move in here at all.”

“Maybe we can go and listen to a recital, then? I think I saw they have them down at the church every now and then.”

Elio smiled. “Going to a recital? Like what people do when they’re courting?” he cocked his head to the side, coquettishly, narrowed his eyes.

“Yes,” Oliver laughed, too. “Like what people do when they’re courting.” He reached over; kissed Elio’s lips. And then, he looked up, into his eyes. Whispered. “I will never stop courting you.”

More kisses followed; sweet, slow. Elio shuffled closer, placed his palm on Oliver’s jaw, the stubble scratchy on his skin.

“Then I can’t wait to go there with you,” the boy said, and his smile was sincere, serene - it made Oliver want to smile back, even wider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? Comments? Send all the comments my way!! 😊


	45. Elio in the mirror

Elio stepped out of the general store, a bag of beans hugged to his chest, when someone called him.

“Elio!”

He looked up, and found Vincent stood in front of him, smiling, his perfect necktie perfectly snug around his neck as always. 

“Oh, hi,” the boy greeted, trying not to let the heavy bag drop to the ground.

“Didn’t hear from you. I thought I would see you today, at my studio,” Vincent said. He was still smiling, didn’t seem reproachful. Elio looked away, a little awkwardly.

“Sorry,” he shook his head. “I - I actually can’t.”

“Have another job?”

“N-no, I mean - yes. I’m busy at home. Sorry. I just can’t.”

Vincent nodded, his hands in his pockets, looking at Elio carefully.

“Jealous spouse?” he asked, quietly.

Elio looked up at him, narrowed his eyes - a little piqued.

“No. I just can’t.”

“Alright. I apologize, I didn’t mean to cross a line. I only said it because - when you came to my studio, I thought maybe you and that handsome gentleman were - more than mere companions.”

Elio’s heart beat faster.

This was the first time that anyone, outside of the gang, outside of the taunting from the Mudbroods, had ever seemingly acknowledged the real nature of the relationship between him and Oliver - and Elio was worried, didn’t know how he should handle that.

“No. Like I said. Sorry. I can’t take the job.” Elio said only, tried for a smile, pulled the bag of beans up against his chest. “I - have to go, now.” He started walking towards where Lady was waiting for him.

“Elio, wait.” Vincent called again, making him stop. “I hope I’m not being inopportune. But if you change your mind, please let me know. Alright?”

Elio was determined to just nod, bid his goodbye politely - but then stopped, looked at Vincent again. Frowned. “Can I ask why?”

He was curious. Why was this man so intent in having him work at his shop?

“Because you intrigue me.” Vincent shrugged, winked at him. And then waved goodbye, and turned around to walk the opposite way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As Elio rode back home, he lost himself in thought.

Vincent was a strange man.

He seemed very intense. Elio wondered if he was like that to everyone; treating everyone like the subject of one of his photographs, looking at them with his critical eye, dressing and making them pose in his mind. Elio wondered if that’s what he was doing with him.

He wondered if that was all that it was.

Elio only had eyes for his husband, of course. He only loved Oliver, he’d committed himself to him - there was no doubt about that.

But he’d never had anyone speak to him like that, before. Like someone who was interested in him, somehow - Elio didn’t know what of him intrigued Vincent, if what the man had called ‘his talent’, or his looks, perhaps? Elio’d never had anyone act like that towards him.

He wondered if it had perhaps happened before, and he hadn’t noticed? Before his life with Oliver, before his husband had made him realise that he was attractive, sensual - sexual, even?

At home, Elio stood in front of the old mirror in their bedroom. It was greyed out, sepia-tinted at the edges, a long crack running alongside one of the edges.

But he could still see himself. He looked into his own eyes; looked at his long eyelashes. At his thick eyebrows - he’d always hated them. Looked at his mouth - it was full, heart-shaped, the swell of his bottom lip soft and the top lip defined, sharp. He’d once disliked his lips because other boys thought they looked like a girl’s. Now, Oliver told him how much he loved his lips every time they made love. Oliver kissed them, licked and bit them, stroked them with his fingers and with his sex - wanted Elio to draw his orgasm from him with his mouth, wanted to see Elio’s mouth covered in it.

Elio moved on, to his hair - the tight raven curls that Oliver didn’t allow him to cut. Oliver loved to run his hands through them, and it felt so good, but they also made him sexual - when Oliver pulled them, to control him and bend him to his will in that way that drove Elio completely wild and made him submit to his husband at the very same time.

It must have been late already because Elio heard the sound of the door unlocking - Oliver was back.

Elio felt on edge; so distracted, so wanton. He decided not to rein himself back.

He ran downstairs, threw himself at Oliver’s neck.

“Hey,” Oliver chuckled, holding Elio against himself. “Someone’s eager to see me?”

His face buried into Oliver’s neck, Elio pulled back, cupped Oliver’s jaws and looked into his eyes.

“Fuck me. Please.”

Oliver frowned, for a very brief moment, his mouth pulled to the side as if he were looking for the catch to the situation. 

But Elio kissed him again, standing on tip toes and hanging from his neck. Oliver smelled of dust and sweat, and the scent made Elio moan shamelessly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio enticed Oliver up the stairs and into their bedroom, and they took each other’s clothes off impatiently - and then Elio let Oliver hug him from behind, fuck him in that position. Kissing for a while, at first, and then Oliver’s strong arms held him tight around the abdomen while he thrust inside him.

“I love this, Oliver,” Elio murmured, breathed in between thrusts. “So deep. It feels so good.” He pressed Oliver’s large hand down hard on his belly, imagined Oliver being able to feel himself inside; and his orgasm was so strong that, for a moment, he couldn’t even think anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“It looks like we won’t eat tonight.” Oliver’s voice was rough, low, as he lay on top of Elio and spoke against his throat. “Because my mistress decided he’d rather be a tease.”

“Your husband,” Elio corrected, looking up at him, eyes still half- closed and basking in the post-sex haze.

“No,” Oliver purred, nuzzling Elio’s mouth with his nose. His voice was low, impossibly low - and raspy. “When you’re like this, you’re my mistress.”

“Christ, Oliver,” Elio growled back. “You really don’t want to have any food tonight...”

He opened his thighs again, wrapped one leg around Oliver’s waist; let him snake a hand in between them to nudge himself back inside Elio, where he belonged.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you jealous. Of me?” Elio asked a little while later, as they still lay in bed naked, Oliver’s forehead pushed between his shoulder blades and the older man’s breath warm down his skin.

“Mmmmh.” Oliver’s mumble was a rough purr. “Why? Who should I start polishing my revolver for?”

Elio giggled, intertwined his fingers with Oliver’s on his abdomen, pressed down - he could still feel the sweet pressure from their lovemaking right there.

And a long shiver ran through his body at Oliver’s words.

“No one. No one,” he assured.

“Good. Because you know that I will.”

It was half a promise, half a threat. And Elio took a deep breath, turned around, to offer his mouth to Oliver for another long kiss.

His whole skin tingling at the thought of how much he loved his husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess Elio is really discovering himself....huh? ;) 
> 
> Comments make me happy! X


	46. What a shame, that you came here with someone

“I saw they are holding a piano performance next Sunday, down at the church,” Oliver said one evening, as they sat at the table, finishing their supper. Potatoes with roast ham - Oliver had finished work a little earlier that day, and had helped with cooking and cleaning up the stove. “Maybe we could go?”

Elio smiled, pleased that Oliver had remembered his promise.

“I’d love to. But we will need some nice clothes. We’ll need to buy something new from the taylor.”

Oliver looked at him from under his eyelashes, amused.

“Do we? It’s just going to be the farmers and their wives going... we’ll be the only ones who’ve dressed up.”

“So?” Elio frowned, stuck his chin up stubbornly. “We need to look nice.”

Oliver stood; picked up a fresh bottle of beer, and leant down to give Elio a kiss on the mouth. “Okay, okay. We will look nice,” he relented - pulling out one of his cigars, and stepping out the door, beer in hand, to smoke it outside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio decided he would take care of Oliver’s outfit, since his husband was at work for the best part of the day - and usually preferred comfort over style, anyway, when it came to the clothes he wore.

He thought about it - but he wasn’t sure of the recommended look to attend the recital in Aurora Rock. They were new in town, and he wanted them to look presentable and well dressed, he wanted them to make a good impression on their fellow towns-folks; he remembered his mother’s preference for elegance and simplicity, and that she would usually look after the outfits for important occasions both for him and for his father.

Elio had never done it on his own.

As he walked through town, directed to the taylor’s, he bit his lip.

He did know someone who was pretty good with clothes. Someone who seemed rather interested in looking polished at all times.

Vincent.

Elio walked towards the photography studio, to ask him for advice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vincent had seemed very happy to see him.

“Ah, Elio. So nice to see you again,” he’d greeted. Someone was in his studio, a customer - a lady dressed in a long purple coat and skirt, who’d looked at Elio curiously. She’d never seen him before, and someone new arriving in town was practically an event.

Vincent left her to sit in the waiting room, ushered Elio inside.

“This is really not urgent,” Elio tried to protest. “I can wait.”

“Not at all. Please, take a seat,” Vincent said instead, and gestured to the chair in front of his desk, next to the camera in front of which Oliver and Elio had stood some days ago, when they had their photo taken.

Elio sat down; looked at Vincent, who sat across from him, smiling at him. “How can I help you?” Vincent prompted, nodding.

“I -“ Elio started, realised he didn’t even know what he planned to say. How he was going to ask. It had seemed such an obvious solution - asking the only other person he knew in town for advice - but now, he felt kind of silly. “I, actually, never mind. I don’t actually need anything.”

“Aw, no, come on,” Vincent said, chuckled. His eyes were fixed on Elio. “You’re here now. I’m sure I can help with whatever you need.”

Elio bit his lower lip; thought for a moment. He didn’t have anything to lose, at this point, he supposed.

“Well, this may sound strange, but - I need to buy some garments and - I am really not sure which style, or what to buy. I’m not sure of the - dress code, in town.”

Vincent lifted his chin, and Elio rushed to speak again.

“I’m sorry for coming here, see? It doesn’t make sense. I’ll - I’ll just go.”

“No,” Vincent interrupted instead. “What a peculiar happening. It’s quite flattering, let me tell you. A young man, so gracious and good looking, coming to ask me for fashion advice.”

Elio would have never described himself as ‘gracious’; and his cheeks went warm at the compliment. He’d never had practically complete strangers offer polite comments on his appearance like that before.

He shrugged, looked down at Vincent’s desk.

“Elio”, Vincent said then. His voice lowered; he was looking into Elio’s eyes, as if he was about to tell him a secret. “You’ve come to the right person. I dress men to make them look good for my camera. And if you want to look even more gorgeous than you already do,” and here he nodded, touched Elio’s arm with his hand across the desk. “If you do then I suggest, waistcoat, shirt, and checked trousers. The taylor, just down the road? He has everything you need. You’ll look stunning.”

Elio tried for a small smile. 

He felt so confused.

He was happy for the advice. But Vincent’s attention perplexed him, made him feel under scrutiny - and underneath it all, it made his skin burn. With the feeling that he wasn’t free to be looked at in that manner; that he didn’t want to, and yet was almost curious to see what Vincent would think, what he would say about him. Curious to see why exactly Vincent seemed to like him that much.

“Thank you. I’ll speak to the taylor.” Elio stood, hid his hands into his pockets. But before he could leave, Vincent spoke again.

“How old are you, Elio? If I may ask?”

“I’m seventeen,” Elio replied. Once again curious - as to why he was being asked. 

“And to this event, will you be going on your own, at seventeen,” Vincent asked, and stood. “Or will someone take you to it?”

Elio didn’t know what to answer. He was almost sure he couldn’t tell the truth; but he didn’t want to lie completely. He couldn’t.

“I’m going with my companion.”

“Ah.” Vincent walked Elio to the door, placed a hand on the handle, but held it there for a moment. “I thought so.” He opened the door for Elio, smiled. “Well. Maybe I will see you next time.” He winked.

Elio left; stood in the street outside, for a moment, confused and frowning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He was nervous and tense later on, when Oliver returned home that night. Elio had made dinner, as usual, fed Lady and Belle and Rufus, washed clothes and checked on his vegetable garden.

He let Oliver kiss his hair when he got back, sat at the table waiting for him.

“Can we go to the taylor tomorrow?” he asked. “We need to buy our outfits. Or it will be too late to do it next week.”

His shirt still open on his chest, hair still damp from when he washed it, Oliver looked at his young husband. “How much is this going to cost us?” he asked, drinking from a cup - probably some of the moonshine his latest job had awarded him as thank you, from the farmer he’d worked for.

“I don’t know. But we don’t have proper outfits, and we need some.”

Elio was aware his tone was short. Off. That he never spoke like that to his husband, never looked at him with such a frown contorting his features - Elio only had love in his eyes for Oliver.

He looked back down, at the table, at the hands that he was tormenting together.

“I didn’t say we shouldn’t buy them,” Oliver replied quietly.

Elio looked up. His heart was beating so fast - he didn’t know why he felt so on edge. 

“If you think we don’t have enough money, you should let me have a job.”

There was silence after that. Elio’s heart beat so fast, he was afraid the sound of it would be the only thing that they could hear.

He didn’t mean what he said - he didn’t mean to pick a fight. He wanted to cry at the sight of Oliver’s perplexed, worried face. He wanted to cry at the thought of having just been so disrespectful to his husband, to someone he loved so much.

“If you really want to,” Oliver started. Looked down at the table, then back up at Elio. “If you really want to, then, it’s your call. Up to you. Take the job. I won’t get in your way.”

His voice was quiet, even. He waited patiently, for Elio to look up at him. To do something with his words.

“I -“ Elio started. Felt so stupid, because he’d been belligerent, he’d brought up an issue, but then when Oliver proposed a solution Elio didn’t even know what to do with it.

Oliver kept looking at him, and his eyes were clear. Calm.

He walked over to Elio, gently nudged his chin up with a hand. Kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I just want you happy.”

He said that, and then he turned around, stepped out into the evening, a cigar in his hand, leaving Elio to sort out his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relationships are hard... especially at seventeen... 
> 
> X


	47. And who needs to know

The recital was lovely, that night.

While Aurora Rock was a simple, unassuming town, it did have a few hubs of entertainment for the townsfolks - the church being one of them, probably the most prominent. And the church goers were used to the shows the church often held in its tiny interior, sometimes even hosting travelling musicians, passing by Aurora Rock on their way to bigger cities.

Dressed in his new clothes, Elio walked alongside Oliver, equally outfitted with a proper jacket, shirt and trousers, apt for social outings as opposed to work and rest.

Oliver looked so attractive; so handsome. Elio thought he saw girls watching him, tittering amongst themselves, thought he could tell that they liked him, were wondering where this charming newcomer had come from. Elio stood a little closer to Oliver as they walked, lifted his chin when his husband placed his hand gently on the small of his back.

Elio wanted all those silly girls to see.

He sat next to Oliver during the recital - but soon, he forgot all about those girls’ wandering prying eyes; once the music started, once the pianist started playing, he was in a completely different world.

Elio loved music, loved the piano. Missed it.

He was transported back to his house, back to his life with his parents, when he played whenever he wanted, when family friends came over and Elio gruffly pretended he was shy and didn’t want to play for them, but actually he couldn’t wait. Couldn’t wait to see their eyes widen and tear up, couldn’t wait to hear their compliments, and for them to tell him how his playing had affected them. Just like it was happening for the artist performing right now, in front of him and Oliver and another forty, fifty people all congregated there to listen to him and be moved and thrilled by him.

At some point, halfway through, Elio felt Oliver’s hand reach for his. Oliver twined their fingers, held Elio’s hand, gently, carefully, with his in between them. Elio looked at him, for a moment, lowered his eyes and felt his cheeks go warm. His heart was so full.

When it was all over, Elio felt like it had gone so quickly, wished he could watch it again, watch another performance. Play the piano, himself; for Oliver, for his parents.

It was such a weird feeling - to be so happy, to feel so lucky and so full - and yet so empty. To miss, to feel a sense of loss, as if, by ending, the melody had also taken away with it all the memories that it had elicited.

He wished he could hold Oliver’s hand even when they left the church. Instead, they walked side by side again, but there were so many people to greet; so many who knew Oliver because of his work, because he’d fixed something for them or because he’d bought materials from them. They knew him and they liked him. And the girls from before, all dressed up for the recital but also to find a husband of their own, still looking at Oliver.

Elio stood quietly next to Oliver, spoke when he was spoken to, waited, otherwise, until their conversation was over, until they finished talking about this or that other thing, which they knew but he didn’t because he wasn’t there when it happened.

Elio didn’t really know anyone. Elio only knew Vincent. And Vincent wasn’t around.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As they dismounted, on their arrival back at the cottage, Elio was quiet.

Oliver pressed a hand on the small of his back again, told him not to worry, to go into the house that he’d settle both Arthur and Lady for the night; and Elio, quietly, obeyed.

He was by the stove, warming up water - they often had a cup of sweet tea before bed - when Oliver came back in. Walked towards him, stood behind him and kissed the side of his neck, gently.

“Did you have a good time tonight?”he asked, softly.

Elio sighed, but didn’t turn around.

“Yes. It was beautiful.”

He felt Oliver’s fingers caress his nape, stroking away the curls that covered it. He felt so tense, too tense to enjoy it.

“You’re so quiet.”

He knew that was Oliver’s way to ask what was wrong - because of course he could tell, and it’s not like Elio intended to hide it.

The problem was - it was so difficult to understand, even for Elio. The unrest he felt, the uneasiness that had gotten under his skin.

He wished he could turn around, kiss Oliver, let his husband kiss him, undress him, make love to him like Elio was sure he wanted to do.

But he couldn’t; and so he didn’t turn around, didn’t look at him.

“I’m just tired,” he decided to say.

He turned around then, after a moment, because he didn’t want Oliver to feel rejected - that’s not what he wanted, what he would want, ever. He looked up at his husband - and Oliver looked into his eyes, and then nodded. Didn’t even ask for a kiss; and Elio didn’t know if he was relieved, or not. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The day after, at the market, when Vincent approached him, Elio was not surprised.

“Heard of you last night, at the show,” Vincent said, standing alongside Elio by the grocery stall. “You and your charming friend.”

Elio turned towards him. “Heard of me?”

“A couple of my customers, this morning. They were saying it was the first time you two had been to one of the evenings at Church. One of them - a very lively lady - seemed very impressed with your companion.”

Elio looked away, set his jaw, but hoped Vincent hadn’t seen. “Ah. Think I saw her, last night,” he said only.

He heard Vincent chuckle.

“She couldn’t stop talking about him, this morning. She said she knows him - this handsome carpenter - she hopes she’ll have to call him to her house again soon.”

Elio tightened his hold on the bags of bread and cereal he had bought. Didn’t look towards Vincent.

He felt on edge, again, powerless, and he didn’t like it. Decided to stop that nonsense talk about his husband.

“Why are you here, instead of in your studio?”

Elio surprised himself, even, at his direct question to Vincent. He still didn’t look at him. Just kept his eyes on the boxes of fruit in front of them, waited for his answer.

“I decided to take my lunch hour to come here, hoped to see you.”

Elio didn’t move, still. Bit his lower lip; frowning. His heart was beating fast. So many contrasting feelings.

He was angry at the women lusting after Oliver. He was angry that there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop them. He was worried Oliver would see this ‘lively lady’, decide, why not? Why not try with her, as a bit of a change to the skinny boy he had to see every day?

He was shaken by Vincent’s attention, by the way that, each time, the man seemed to get a little closer to him. He was angry at himself, for not wanting to cut ties with Vincent, the only person he knew in town.

“If you wouldn’t be adverse to spending some time with me, I can introduce you to some people I know. Get you to meet more folks in this town. Your companion seems popular - it is only fair that you should be, too, don’t you think?”

Vincent was almost whispering - and Elio clutched his bags more firmly against his body, didn’t look at him.

Didn’t reply. Didn’t say no.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Oliver returned that evening, Elio felt as if he hadn’t seen him in a whole week.

Even after a long, long day at work, sweaty and dusty, the skin of his face darkened and tired looking, Oliver was still so attractive, that Elio’s heart felt a squeeze at the sight.

He smiled at him, almost sheepish, let Oliver kiss his lips quickly before heading to the bucket to wash.

He felt so confused. So conflicted.

He loved Oliver, he was attracted to him - it had been two days since the last time they made love and Elio wanted him, wanted him so bad; but at the same time, noticing his looks reminded him of the girls that wanted Oliver, too. The girls who had access to him during the day, the girls who didn’t know that he was Elio’s, that he was taken. The girls who were certainly going to try and convince Oliver they were much better than that skinny boy he lived with. 

“How was your day?” Oliver asked, walking back from the bath, bare-chested and hair still damp from his wash.

Elio bit his lower lip again; took a breath, then turned to stir the pot of soup on the stove.

“Okay. Uneventful.”

He felt Oliver’s eyes on him.

“Uneventful?”

Elio didn’t look at him, stared at the soup bubbling in the pot, as if it could give him some revelation, some suggestion as to what to do, what to say.

To tell Oliver about Vincent seeking him out? But that could be all in Elio’s head. It didn’t mean Vincent was interested beyond friendship, beyond wanting to help Elio with his social circle in town.

“They told me about your admirers,” Elio said instead.

“Admirers?” Oliver’s voice was amused.

Elio turned around. Leant back on the counter.

“All those girls that were ogling you last night. All tittering and - flapping their wings like Susan’s hens when they bickered.”

Oliver, actually, laughed.

“I didn’t even see them. What about them?”

Elio rolled his eyes, torn between being relieved, and annoyed at Oliver’s ignorance. Torn whether to believe it.

“You can’t have not seen them. One of them was talking about you today. They all think they can marry you.”

Oliver was still bare chested, and his blue eyes were wide, half-surprised, half-amused. The recent work had made his arms even stronger; Elio swallowed, looked down, his face on fire. He was angry - at those girls, at Oliver for not taking it seriously - at himself for being horny, full of desire towards his husband despite of all this.

Oliver hung his towel on the back of their chair, looked at Elio in the eye.

“Whoever told you this, they are trying to make you jealous. I don’t even see them.”

Elio held his gaze. “I’m not jealous.”

He held Oliver’s gaze still, when the older man walked slowly towards him. Reached out a hand to raise Elio’s face to him. 

“...are you not?”

Elio didn’t know what happened, from there on out.

He didn’t want to have sex with Oliver and yet, yes he wanted to. He didn’t want to give in and yet he wanted Oliver’s hands everywhere, on his body, inside him.

He let Oliver lift him up on the counter, kiss him deeply, savagely, with all the pent up desire of two days without the sexual contact they were used to.

Elio clawed at Oliver’s strong shoulders, at his bicep, imagined him holding him down, imagined how much pain those arms and those hands could inflict and yet Oliver was so careful, so attentive with him, controlling him and bending him to his will but bringing Elio only pleasure while doing so.

Those girls could only dream of that - but even just thinking of them brought a jab of jealousy deep in his stomach, and Elio bit Oliver’s lips, made him snarl against his mouth.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Oliver growled against him, against Elio’s throat, while divesting him of his pants urgently. “I’d exchange thirty of those stupid girls, for you, even if I only got to have you once. Just once.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From then on, Elio’s brain went into mush.

He looked up at Oliver, hypnotised like the silly, head-over-heels in love kid that he was. He sunk his fingers into Oliver’s hair, held on to it and looked into Oliver’s eyes as his husband pushed into him, and Elio grit his teeth and cried out and fuck, Oliver not asking him if he was okay, knowing that he could take it, aroused Elio even more.

Thankfully, they had thought of putting out the fire in the stove, and perhaps they’d go back and have their soup dinner later.

But for now, they ended up tangled on the couch, sweaty, and still kissing deeply a while later, Elio feeling exhausted, sore, his heart all over the place.

“So. Who told you about those silly girls?”Oliver asked him after they caught their breath, his mouth pushed against Elio’s sweaty nape.

Elio breathed.

“No one. I just - noticed.”

There was silence after that. Oliver didn’t protest his answer; didn’t question it.

And was it really a lie? Was it bad, if Elio thought that Vincent was just looking out for him?

And what if Vincent liked him? It didn’t have to mean anything. Nothing had to happen.

And Oliver didn’t need to know.

 


	48. The rich just like to talk

Oliver woke Elio up with kisses on the cheek.

He didn’t mean to, not to wake him up - it was early in the morning, just before he needed to leave for work. But he’d been watching the boy, as he slept - his long eyelashes skimming his cheekbones; his full mouth, ruby-red always, it drove Oliver crazy; the long corvine curls, the slant of his shoulders that continued into the lean line of his thin arms. Oliver had meant to kiss him once and then leave him be, but Elio’s eyes had opened, looked at him, and when the boy licked his lips Oliver had to kiss them.

Elio’s hands stroked up Oliver’s biceps, up to his collarbone - his fingers squeezed the muscle there gently, like he liked to do.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Oliver husked softly, nuzzling Elio’s mouth, kissing it again. Elio just blinked, smiled gently; and Oliver smiled back, administered a few more kisses, his lips and tongue greedy for Elio’s skin.

He kissed his throat and his sternum, and then his left nipple, then his right. Elio’s nipples were small, tight - so enticing, begging for Oliver to suck on them, and the older man could rarely resist.

Elio shifted, parting his legs, trying to get Oliver to settle more comfortably between them. And Oliver closed his eyes, sighed.

“Fuck. Sorry, baby,” he said, softly. “I’m going to be late for work.”

He’d been greedy, he knew that, and now he had to pay for it - would have to wait hours before he could be with his young husband like he wanted.

“But, you’re hard,” Elio tried - and the look of concern in his eyes made Oliver smile tenderly.

“My first job is in fifteen minutes,” he said, his voice apologetic. He kissed Elio’s mouth again and pulled himself up from bed, from Elio’s embrace, setting his teeth and cursing himself for not having planned this a little more carefully.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The morning was long and tiring.

Oliver visited three households, one of which was a rather large villa, on the outskirts of town, a job that paid quite well thankfully.

When that happened, when money was not bad, Oliver allowed himself to think about the future. About the time in which he’d finally be able to leave this line of work and have enough saved up for him and Elio to have and keep their own ranch, live on it. It wasn’t long to go. They would be able to have chickens soon; a couple of cows in a month or so.

It was going to be good.

The lady of the house, an older woman named Violet, was the talkative type - and those rich folks always loved to know everything about everyone.

“I hear you live with a young man, Mister Oliver,” Violet chattered, while Oliver took a break from the work and drank a glass of water. “It’s good that you have that help in the house. He seems young, but very good at his job.”

Oliver didn’t say anything. People could think what they wanted; if they wanted to see Elio as his help, then they could - but he was sure Violet knew that wasn’t the whole story.

“My maids see him often with that photographer. Vincent? That eccentric type. Does your boy work for him, too?”

Now, that was a question Oliver wasn’t expecting.

Vincent? Had Elio accepted the job after all? He’d never said anything, never confirmed.

Oliver wanted to frown, but he made himself school his face into a plain expression. These rich ladies were after gossip, more often than not.

“I better go back to work,” he said, in lieu of a direct answer. Placed the glass back on the table, and went back to fixing the roof of her orangery.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By the time his lunch hour rolled around Oliver was tired, but he had a plan, that day. He was going to go home, visit Elio, make amends for the way he’d had to leave him that morning.

He’d been thinking about him since he left the house; more intensely than usual, and that wasn’t good, not when he needed to be focussed and concentrate on his work - but the boy was the center of his thoughts, always, and that wasn’t something Oliver could really do anything about.

What Violet has said had stuck with him for a little while - but Oliver knew these kind of people. Knew they thrived on gossip - knew that what they said or believed didn’t usually reflect the truth.

And so he pushed the thought aside; went to mount Arthur, only thinking of when he’d get to have Elio in his arms.

When he arrived home, a little later, however, only Rufus was there to greet him.

“Where did your master go, boy?” Oliver asked, bending down to ruffle the dog’s head as the pup barked excitedly. Oliver was a little disappointed - Elio usually went out during the morning, or the afternoon, so he’d thought he would find him home right now.

Sighing, he rode Arthur back into town.

Although, he was curious.

Where could Elio be?

The market, perhaps? It was always so busy at lunchtime, crawling with farmers selling produce and their customers, and Elio usually preferred to go during less hectic times - but Oliver rode past it anyway, casting a cursory glance - and Elio, as he had guessed, wasn’t there.

Oliver knew he should leave it. Elio was certainly busy, he managed the whole house for him while Oliver was at work, and did so well - and while Oliver was disappointed at not having been able to see him, his young husband would be waiting for him at home once Oliver was done for the day. 

He didn’t know what made him decide to pass by that street. It was just curiosity, he told himself. As if he was challenging himself to guess correctly, as if he was testing his investigation skills. It wasn’t because he didn’t trust Elio. It wasn’t that.

But, when he saw Elio, standing by the entrance to the photography shop, talking to Vincent, Oliver didn’t know if he was happy of having gone through with his guessing game.

He stopped at the end of the street, watching. His usual uniform of fancy, fashionable clothing on, Vincent was talking, and Elio stood in front of him and smiled, listening. He said something, and Vincent nodded. Then, theatrically, he opened his arms, drew Elio into them in a quick hug. And then Elio waved him goodbye, turning the opposite way to leave.

Arthur stomped his front foot, nervously. And Oliver swallowed, frowned. He tightened his fingers on the reins; pulled his horse back the other way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Oliver returned home that night, Elio walked up to him, threw his arms around his neck and offered his lips for a kiss.

“It’s warm outside tonight,” the boy smiled. “I was thinking we could roast some rabbit on the grill? And I’ve made mash to go with it.”

He seemed so upbeat - and Oliver’s first thought was that he wanted to forget everything else. Have a nice evening with his husband, take him to bed and fuck him like he’d wanted to do since the morning.

But he’d always been too honest - he’d always found it difficult to cover up his feelings, his thoughts. He knew it was going to be worse, if he didn’t ask, if he didn’t stop this from becoming bigger than it actually, probably was.

“Where were you today?”

He decided to ask a direct question. In the hope of getting a direct answer, one that made total sense, one that would put the whole, stupid issue to bed.

He held Elio’s chin between his fingers, to look the boy in the eye.

Elio frowned.

“I went to the market to buy potatoes,” he replied, quietly.

“When?”

Oliver knew he was playing with fire, but somehow, he couldn’t make himself stop.

“This morning.” Elio responded, but didn’t ask why that question - and Oliver’s traitorous mind decided to see that as suspicious, too.

“So where did you go at lunchtime?”

A voice in his mind was telling Oliver to be quiet, stop asking, just stop.

But he couldn’t.

“What?” Elio was frowning still, his delicate face contracted into a deeper frown.

“I came home at lunch, hoping to see you.But you weren’t here. And you weren’t at the market. So, where were you?”

Elio took a step back.

“I didn’t know you were tailing me.”

He was being confrontational. And Oliver closed his eyes, for a moment. Tried to calm the beating of his heart.

He’d seen this scene already. Twenty years ago. When he was a kid, himself, when his father came home drunk. When he asked his mother, accused her. An answer like that, like the one Elio just gave, would have warranted a slap right across the face, one of those that bruised her cheek blue and made her cry.

Oliver looked down, took a breath - the memory bringing a stab to his heart, still.

“If you’ve decided to take the job at the photographer you should just tell me,” he said instead, keeping his voice level, calm. “Just like I tell you about my work.”

Elio narrowed his eyes.

“I didn’t. I’m not working for him. You told me not to.”

“I said you could, if you wanted to.” Oliver hardened his eyes, too. “Just don’t hide things from me.”

He watched as Elio lifted his chin. His cheeks were reddened, his breathing was faster - but his eyes were clear.

“I don’t hide things from you,” he just said, quietly. He blinked, looked away.

Oliver held his eyes on him for a while.

Then, he nodded, and turned around, left the house again.

Sat outside on the patio, decided he would try to let the quiet air of the nightclear his head.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments and your commitment to this story. You make me happy and I’m so grateful for your interest. 
> 
> Please keep the comments coming! X


	49. His next muse

__Oliver sat outside, for a while. He didn’t know how long for, but the air became colder; the evening darker.

He felt calmer then. And so he took a deep breath, and pulled himself up to standing.

If he were to be honest with himself, he didn’t know what had happened. And his brain refused to think of a solution; he was tired. He just wanted to not think. He wanted to have a drink, smoke his cigar. Sit on the couch, with a candle to light the room quietly, and his young husband curled up next to him. There, for Oliver to look at, for Oliver to touch and to hug to himself, sweet-smelling and soft and such a contrast with the dirt and the heat and the hardship of the day.

Oliver took another breath.

He was well aware that that was a fantasy, couldn’t always be the reality. That Elio was his own person, and a strong-willed one at that, with his own personality and desires and interests - his own needs.

Oliver knew that; he just wished he didn’t have to deal with that, not tonight.

When he walked back into the house, the pot was steaming gently still. The table was set, just like earlier. And when Oliver looked over, to the other side of the room, he saw Elio on the couch - the boy pulling his knees up and hugging himself at the sight of Oliver finally back.

“You haven’t eaten.” Oliver spoke, just to say something.

Elio’s eyes blinked - and they were wide, a dark green. “I was waiting for you,” he replied, quietly.

It was an attempt at an olive branch as much as it could be - and Oliver decided not to say anything, not to risk saying the wrong thing. He walked to the bucket instead, undressed, only just realising how much he craved water on his skin to wash away the grime of the day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When he was done, and walked back to the kitchen, a plate full of mash and cooked meat was waiting for him at his place at the table. Rufus wagged his tail next to him, his mouth open, tongue out in that expression of his that always made him look like he was smiling.

Elio was on the couch; curled up, reading one of his Penny Dreadfuls.

“Will you come and eat with me?” Oliver asked softly. It wasn’t a reprimand; but Oliver knew what Elio’s response was going to be.

“I’m not hungry.” Elio’s voice was soft, too. He wasn’t trying to pick a fight.

His hair still damp from the bucket, Oliver walked over to Elio. And then knelt in front of him, reached out with his hand to hold his chin gently.

“You should eat something. You’ve lost weight.”

It was true - the past few weeks had been tough, with all the work on their new house, and the stress of a new life - and Elio’s body was already slender enough that it verged on too thin easily if he wasn’t properly looking after himself.

And Oliver had promised to look after the boy - sworn to provide for him when he’d given him that ring, to make him happy; and now, he was failing.

He was so obviously failing.

“I’m okay,” Elio shook his head, pulled his knees closer to himself, as if he was cold.

Oliver nodded, sighed. And let Elio’s chin go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

After dinner Oliver went out to the stable to tend to the horses - Belle was growing up nicely, smart and strong like her mother, and Arthur and Lady had acquainted themselves with the new place quite well.

It was a serene night outside, probably not even ten in the evening yet.

Elio was already asleep when Oliver walked back inside. Rufus at his feet, snoring softly, the boy was curled up tight on his side, on the couch.

Oliver stood next to him, for a little while, watching him; watching his chest rise and fall, quietly, calmly, the long dark lashes on his cheeks, the lips gently opening with his breaths. 

Elio didn’t wake when Oliver, gently, very gently, picked him up into his arms - still slept as the older man carried him upstairs to the bedroom, placed him carefully on the mattress.

Oliver covered him with their thick woollen cover - the night could be chilly, and Elio liked to be cocooned in blankets.

He watched him, for a few more moments.

Thinking.

“What can I do? To make you happy?” he whispered, quietly, mostly to himself, although he desperately wished he could ask Elio, wished that he already knew the answer, so to avoid the heartache that he was feeling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sky had decided to turn to grey the next morning, quickly filled itself with clouds, and by the time Oliver left the house it was raining densely.

It was lucky that he was working indoors that day. He had been called to the house of a cattle farmer who he’d worked for before, and therefore knew. That day, the farmer wasn’t in - but his wife was, together with her three children, all locked home because of the stormy weather outside.

“I hope you’re settling in nicely, Mister Oliver,” the woman gushed, watching him work on fixing the door to her kitchen. “And that nice boy of yours. I heard he’s already caught the eye of someone in this town.”

Oliver stopped working for a moment. Breathed. “Has he?”

“Oh, Yes. Vincent, the photographer? He’s a right character. Always looking for his next muse - if you get my drift. And he usually finds them.”

Oliver couldn’t say he was surprised. In fact, quite the opposite: he felt as if everything was starting to make sense.

He set his jaw. Kept his eyes on his work.

“I wouldn’t know,” he said only. Quietly.

The woman sighed. Took a step towards him, and then patted his shoulder, gently.

“Maybe you should, Mister Oliver,” she murmured. And then walked away.

Leaving Oliver alone with his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments and love for this story. I hope you’re still liking it.  
> Love you. X
> 
> (Ps sorry this is a little shorter, but the next one will be up soon)


	50. What is the life you want

Vincent was the last person Elio felt like seeing, that morning.

Walking out of the market, having visited the general store for more seeds for his garden - and he didn’t know why, but thinking of that made him sad, somehow, for some reason, he was afraid he wasn’t going to be using them - he found Vincent right in front of him, and the older man smiled, his eyes shining.

“Ah! If it isn’t just the person I was hoping to see.”

Elio made himself smile politely - but he wasn’t feeling particularly sociable, not at that moment, and got ready to tell Vincent exactly that.

“I just wanted to say - I found something that made me think of you,” Vincent said instead. And he must have seen that Elio bit his lower lip, looked away, uncomfortable - and so he continued, urgent. “I was running through this pack of old photographs, and found some of a Schantz piano. I thought you might want to see them.”

Elio looked to Vincent. Photos of a piano?

Elio sighed. He’d never seen a Schantz in his life. The piano he played back at his parents’ villa was good, of course, but miles away from a Schantz - the one Ludwig Van Beethoven himself played.

And it was certainly an excuse, on Vincent’s part, this idea of the photos - but Elio had long understood that Vincent craved company. Anybody’s company, probably, not just Elio’s.

And what did Elio have to lose? What did he have to do, at home, right now, apart from sitting alone, thinking of Oliver? Trying to figure out what was going on with them, with their marriage, that was so complicated he couldn’t for the life of him find a solution?

“Sure,” he said, then, watching as Vincent’s eyes widened in delight.

He didn’t have anything to lose.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vincent had a small wagon, just as eccentric and fashionably attired as his clothes -and insisted that Elio rode with him.

But, once arrived and once in Vincent’s studio, Elio discovered they wouldn’t be alone.

Sat on one of the chairs by the waiting room, a man - strawberry blonde hair, beard, roughly the same age as Vincent’s - seemed to be waiting. Elio wondered who’d let him in; he must have obviously had the keys.

“Elio,” the man greeted him when Vincent introduced them.

The two men talked for a while, of things Elio didn’t know, things Elio didn’t care to know. He was already bored. He shouldn’t have followed Vincent there.

“The photos are just here,” Vincent quipped then, zealous, as if he could tell how Elio was feeling.

And yes, the images were interesting.

The piano was beautiful. The images were yellowed, grainy - but Elio was able to tell the make of the instrument, the details, the shine and the smoothness of the ivory of the keys, which he could almost feel on the pads of his fingers.

His hands trembled. He missed playing.

“I can tell you’re a musician,” the other man spoke, in a moment of silence, while Elio’s eyes were still glued to the photos. He stood, reached out - took one of Elio’s hands in his.

“Look at these fingers,” he commented. Looking at Elio’s hand, as if that itself was some sort of rare, interesting instrument. “Ah. And already married, at seventeen? That’s very young.”

Elio set his jaw, frowned at the man - pulled his hand back from him.

He’d never met the man before.

“How do you know how old I am?”

He turned his eyes on Vincent, who was looking between the two of them, a small smile on his face, as if nothing was happening.

“My friend Vincent here. I think he’s quite bewitched with you,” the man said - and the way he spoke, the way he’d admitted to Vincent’s secret was strange - as if he wasn’t happy about it.

Elio felt his head spinning.

“And who can blame me,” Vincent said. After a moment of hesitation, he had turned his charm back on.“I’ve told you so many times, Elio. You’re gorgeous.”

“We were talking about your photographs,” Elio said. Wasn’t even sure if he was making any sense. He frowned; his jaw tense, looking at Vincent, confused.

“But my beautiful boy, of course I was talking about you.” Vincent took a step towards Elio; Elio stood still, refused to be intimidated. “Everyone knows you’ve got that handsome carpenter. But you’re so wasted, with him.”

“He’s good looking,” his friend chipped in, rolling his eyes, and sitting back down on his chair. 

Vincent didn’t let him continue.

“He’s good looking, but Elio here is too intelligent and too gorgeous for him. You need more, Elio. You need more than cows and hammers and dust.”

Elio’s heart was beating so fast, his face was burning, with so much shock and indignation that he didn’t even notice when Vincent took his hand in his just like his friend had done earlier.

“You should be with me, darling Elio. Not with that peasant.”

This time, when Elio pulled his hand from Vincent’s hold, he did so with anger. 

“Let me go.”

He took a step back, looking between both of the men in front of him. Breathed hard, angry, angry that he had been drawn into what was an ambush, an almost farcical one at that, angry that both Vincent and his friend, that jealous ex-lover of his, thought that they could lure Elio away from Oliver, from his life, by way of insults towards his husband and vague promises of an upper class existence, the one Vincent liked to think he lived.

“Ah, come on, Elio. Think about it. It’s all I ask. Do you really want to live this life, for the rest of your days? With a man who’s going to start getting drunk at the saloon, day in day out, a man who only wants you to stay home and wait for him?”

“How do you know what my life is?” Elio hissed, squeezing his hands into fists. He wanted to go and wash the fingers that those two had touched, when they’d looked at Elio as if he was a thing, another beautiful knick knack for Vincent to add to his collection. “How do you know what life I want?”

“That feistiness will only earn you a backhand across the face soon, if you haven’t had it already,” Vincent’s friend waved his hand, his expression one of condescension that Elio, suddenly, hated. “That’s how peasants treat their spouses.”

Elio could no longer stand it. Could no longer stand their presence, stand to be there with them, in the same room. His heart was beating fast and he felt like growling, he was angry, he was upset.

He looked to Vincent, narrowed his eyes at him, the green in his irises flashing dark.

“I am his spouse. And I love him. Whether he is a peasant, or not. No matter who he is or what he does. I love him, more than my whole life.” He breathed, once. And when he spoke again, his tone was final. “Don’t you ever, ever, come near me ever again.”

“Elio...”

Vincent was still calling out to him, his voice begging, pathetically so; when Elio left, slamming the door behind himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Elio got back home, he curled up on the couch, hugged his knees to himself - hid his face into them, in embarrassment.

He was still so angry, but he was also ashamed.

Had he really not seen that coming?

He’d had a feeling that Vincent might be interested, but honestly, he’d pushed it to the back of his mind, he’d preferred to think that Vincent genuinely wanted to be his friend, that he genuinely was an older, interesting, different person Elio could relate to.

And now, not only his feeling had been proven right; not only that, but Vincent had obviously been grooming him to like him. He’d been working to get Elio to trust him, to want his company - all for an ulterior motive, one that did not take into account Elio’s feelings or desires in any way.

Elio felt burned, humiliated - sad, and upset. He felt on the verge of panic, and he let Rufus jump on his lap, curl up against him on the couch. With his face into the dog’s fur, Elio reminded himself to breathe.

He needed to deal with this like an adult.

Deal with everything, like an adult.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio didn’t leave the house again until night time, waiting for Oliver to come back. Waiting to talk to him.

He waited and waited, but the time Oliver should have returned home came and went, and there was no sign of him.

By nine in the evening, Elio was worried. It wasn’t like Oliver to be that late. It wasn’t like him to take other jobs without coming to warn Elio that he wouldn’t be home for dinner.

Elio’s hands were newly trembling and this time, it was out of alarm. What if something terrible had happened - what if Oliver was injured, or worse.

He needed to go and find him. Make sure he was okay.

Elio walked out into the night, set on taking Lady and going into town.

But before he could even get to the stable, Oliver appeared. On Arthur, when Elio saw him, but he dismounted a moment later.

“Where were you?” Elio couldn’t help but rush to ask. He was still trembling; still terrified.

Oliver only looked at him, then looked back down, at where he was hitching Arthur by the post in front of their cottage.

“I could certainly ask you the same thing.”

Oliver had spoken, quietly. But his voice sounded strange; and it was dark, but Elio could not recognise his eyes.

“I was home. I’ve been home for hours,” the boy said, quietly. Frozen on the spot, he waited for Oliver to look back up at him. To speak.

“What does it matter? You weren’t home earlier. No, I didn’t come looking for you - they told me, in town. That they saw you.”

“They saw me- what?” Elio frowned even deeper, couldn’t help the tone in his voice. His head hurt; he felt like he couldn’t keep up with his breaths. “What are you talking about?”

Oliver looked back down, walked towards the front door, rubbing a hand over his eyes, as if he was in pain.

“Don’t you fucking pretend with me, Elio.”

He stopped just by the entrance. Turned around, finally looked at Elio.

His stance was different. His eyes were different. He seemed tense, so tense, braced for a fight - and yet he looked tired, exhausted, ill.

“Are you,” Elio started, stopped. Had to start again, because the fear was not letting him breathe. “Are you drunk?”

Oliver smiled, bitterly. “Get inside, Elio,” he said only.

“No,” Elio frowned, bit his lower lip to make it stop trembling. “Tell me if you’re drunk first.”

“You always have to disobey, don’t you?” Oliver’s voice was quiet. It sounded dangerous. “Will you ever. Ever? Do as I ask?”

Even in the darkness his eyes flashed, and he took a step forward, towards Elio.

And the boy swallowed. Felt tears burn at his eyelids. He didn’t care to stop them from crossing down his cheeks. 

“Are you going to hit me?”he said, in a sob. “Is this what you want to do, now? Get drunk, and then hit me?”

He was terrified, shaking - and yet, when he looked up at Oliver’s eyes, and Oliver stared back down at him, Elio found that he had no fear.

Nothing.

He was just waiting. For Oliver to do what he wanted to do; for Oliver to do what he thought he should do. To do what he thought he should do, to Elio. To them.

Oliver’s eyes were cloudy, grey. Troubled. His breath smelled of the saloon - of alcohol, of the drink, the numbing potion that he obviously felt like he needed.

But he didn’t move, not towards Elio.

He frowned, his expression one of sadness. And then he turned, and walked inside the house, leaving Elio alone, outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me ..!!!! X


	51. He didn’t want to run, he didn’t want to escape

Oliver walked to the table, poured himself another glass. The rum was there, bottle nearly over, and he was already drunk, he may as well finish the job.

“Oliver, please. Stop drinking.”

Elio’s voice was quiet behind him, and Oliver was too tired, not at all sober enough to stop, check on his husband, try to fix the upset that was surely showing on his features. That night was a write off, at this point, there was nothing Oliver could do about it.

And he hadn’t meant to get into a fight with Elio. He’d meant to drink, blow off some steam, hopefully stop his mind from thinking, arrest that train of images in his head that had Elio with Vincent, Elio with another man, Elio leaving him.

To not think, just for one night, to not have to solve a problem just for a change - that’s all that Oliver had wanted.

And then, he wanted to go home, not get asked questions, just lay in bed with Elio sleeping by his side, quiet and obedient and understanding, and willing to let him be angry, to let Oliver be upset at having had to listen to people tell him how his pretty helper boy, his husband, had found other ways to entertain himself that were much better than him.

“Oliver, please.”

And instead, Elio was there. Very much awake, that usually lovely face of his disapproving, teary, distressed - another thing for Oliver to take care of. Something that he actually had caused, this time. Yet again.

He closed his eyes, looked away and back to Elio.

“If you’re not going to be truthful with me, what do you want?”

Oliver knew he was being harsh. But really - what was there to talk about?

“I am!” Elio took a step towards him. “There’s nothing to tell - I haven’t done anything!”

Oliver set his teeth, tightened his hands into fists. Looked at the boy’s wide eyes, his red mouth, the scarlet on his cheeks.

He would never hurt Elio. He wasn’t that person.

No matter how angry he was, he wasn’t his father. 

“I don’t believe you,” he said, instead. “I can’t. Don’t ask me to.”

“But why not,” Elio cried, took another step towards him, just one. “I’ve never - I would never -“

“Because the person you decided to spend time with is someone who has countless lovers, and who doesn’t give a goddamn about who belongs to whom. Because he likes to steal what’s already taken, because you knew that and you let him near you, you did whatever you wanted, you didn’t tell me, and how am I supposed to know that he hasn’t - that he hasn’t done what he always does?”

“I didn’t - I didn’t do anything! I didn’t let him! Nothing happened!”

Elio was fully sobbing. He was breathing hard - so upset, trembling - Oliver didn’t even know why he continued to talk, when, in some remote part of his brain, his sober self knew the boy was too distressed to be able to make any sense even if he tried. 

“Then why were you seeing him! Why were you so fucking interested! Because I’m so boring, for you, because this life isn’t exciting? Because we need to work to build - to build something, and that sounds tedious, doesn’t it?”

“This isn’t fair!” Elio interrupted. “It’s not fair. I’ve been working hard too, what you say, it’s not fair -“

And Oliver, too, interrupted him.

“No, Elio. What’s not fair is that you decided that sleeping with him was what you wanted to do just because he’s got money, and friends.”

There was actual shock in Elio’s face, but Oliver forced himself to hold his eyes.

The alcohol was making him feel sickly warm, exhausted. He didn’t know if he was making any sense. He probably wasn’t.

He only wanted to sleep.

“Look. I can’t - I can’t do this right now. Don’t ask me to.” He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, over his mouth.

He stood still, didn’t look at Elio. Fixed his eyes on the floor, hoping that Elio would get the hint.Oliver needed to put some much needed distance between them, give his brain time to think, wake up in the morning - assess the damage that, like the plague in a war-ravaged village, he had just caused to his life.

He only heard a sniff. Elio, swallowing a quiet sob. And then the boy walked away, towards the stairs, head down, leaving Oliver to sleep on the couch, away from him like he wanted to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver woke early the day after.

There was no trace of Elio downstairs, nor of Rufus, and Oliver pulled on a rumpled shirt, ran his hands through hair that was sticking in every direction.

When his head spun, and made him feel nauseous, he knew he needed air, and so he stepped out, walking to Arthur as if the horse were his last saviour.

Horseback riding was what he’d always known when he needed time alone. His way of leaving issues behind, for a little while, knowing that they’d be there to wait for him on his return; he’d always thought that that was, most definitely, why the outlaw life had seemed like the only way out. With Albert, he had seen that, when a situation was no longer working, when daily life was becoming risky or dangerous, he could just up and leave, abandon whatever was weighing him down, ride towards a new place, a new moment, new people.

He asked himself if that was what he wanted to do, now.

Did he want to leave? Did he want to abandon his house and his job, that fledging, perhaps absurd hope of making an honourable living, and the young man he shared it with?

He leant down, to pat Arthur on the neck, that faithful animal that had never let him down. 

No. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to run. He didn’t want to escape.

He was here for good, he’d made a decision, he’d chosen a path and he’d been working hard for it. He’d left his past behind.

And that was perhaps why he was going through what he was.

Because he might think that, but what about Elio? What if Elio had chosen differently, what if Elio had gotten tired of the hardships, the quiet life, that keep-your-head-down-and-do-your-part kind of existence?

What if he’d decided he wanted more than Oliver could ever provide?

Because it seemed so. According to what the rumours wanted Oliver to believe.

But Oliver wasn’t a dramatic man - and, when he thought back to the previous night, he felt shame burn inside him. That ugly flight, the alcohol, Elio’s tears. It had been all for nothing - and now Oliver didn’t really know where they could go from there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio was awake, when Oliver returned.

He was wearing a shirt over his slender, naked body. His curls were messy, and his eyes swollen - Oliver knew he’d been crying most of the night.

Oliver avoided his gaze.

“I’ve made tea,” Elio whispered only, and Oliver didn’t answer.

Elio swallowed. “Please, can we talk?”

It would be easy enough to ask something rhetorical - what do we need to talk about?

But anything seemed redundant, stupid - and so Oliver kept quiet still.

“I don’t know what you’ve been told. But nothing happened between Vincent and I.”

Oliver looked up at him then, and his eyes were hard.

“If you intend on lying, you can save your breath. I’m not interested.”

Elio’s face was absolutely broken. He was frowning, his chest rising and falling with quick, anxious breath.

“I’m not lying. You must believe me. What can I do for you to believe me?”

“I didn’t do all this for you to sleep with another man, Elio,” Oliver interrupted. His jaw was tense at the mere mention of that horrible eventuality; he felt like snarling, his body full of rage and immense, profound sadness if he only thought about that possibility.

“I didn’t. I didn’t. Oliver, please. I didn’t.”

Oliver sighed. Decided to turn, finally look at Elio in the eyes.

“Why do you want me to believe you?”

“Because I love you!” Elio was, once again, crying. “Because I love you, and I haven’t cheated on you. I haven’t.”

Oliver held the boy’s eyes.

He didn’t even feel angry, anymore.

He felt defeated.

Elio insisted he hadn’t cheated. Fine, perhaps he hadn’t. But that didn’t mean he’d been happy - it didn’t mean that he hadn’t been looking for something that Oliver couldn’t provide. If it wasn’t sex, then it was something else - and Oliver still needed to figure out what it was.

He took a step towards Elio, and when the boy looked up at him, Oliver spoke. His voice so calm, so controlled, that it was surprising even for himself.

“I’ve been in love with you since the very first moment I laid eyes on you.” He leant on the table, placed his hands on it. The tea was getting cold in his mug.

“You’ve - given me everything I wanted, and everything I needed. And I wanted to do the same.”

“But I’m not, clearly. And maybe it’s because I’m stupid, because I’m not clever like you. Because I’m not interesting and - cultured, like that man.”

“Oliver, no, you-“

“Let me speak,” Oliver stopped Elio’s protest before it was fully formed. Let a moment pass between them. “If you - if you give me so much, if I’m happy with you, so much so that I don’t see you suffering, then - then we have a problem. And I don’t want that. I want to know, when you need more. With or without me.”

Elio sobbed. It seemed like he could do nothing else - and every time, Oliver’s heart broke a little more.

The boy spoke, fast, barely keeping up with his breaths.

“Oliver, no, please. I want you, you’re what I want, please, you’re wrong, please.”

Oliver nodded - he hadn’t done this to see Elio beg. He hadn’t done it to have reassurance. This wasn’t about him.

It was about them, the both of them. They couldn’t be happy, as long as one of them was less so than the other.

He walked the few steps that separated him from Elio. Looked down into his eyes.

“If you aren’t looking for another man, then perhaps - perhaps I should take you back to your parents? For a while?”

Elio just closed his eyes. For one, long moment.

“My place is here with you.” He took a breath, looked back up at Oliver. “Please. Don’t send me away.”

His eyes were huge, bottomless. The long lashes that framed them gave him an air of innocence, one that had always grabbed Oliver right in the middle of his chest, made him believe in everything and anything.

He reached out to stroke Elio’s lips with his thumb, just once.

He couldn’t make that mistake again. He couldn’t just believe, and then let this whole, ugly, painful mess happen all over again.

Gently, he took Elio’s left hand in his. Stroked his ring finger, the gold band warm with Elio’s skin and blood. Still there. Still real.

He needed to figure this out. He needed to fix this.

He needed to see if it could be fixed.


	52. The next best thing

Elio left the house that morning with Lady, but for the first time, he didn’t have a plan.

He usually rode into town to run errands, to check out the new offerings at the market, to browse the shops for new clothes Oliver and he might need.

This time, he just felt like leaving the house, with no agenda. Nothing to do. Just him and Lady, having fed Rufus and Belle already, having ruffled his fur and kissed her nose. Elio bent forward, stroked Lady’s neck as she trotted gently alongside the dusty country road that would soon turn into stone and gravel as Aurora Rock appeared.

It was early, but townfolks were already out and about.

Elio looked around. Took a deep breath. He wasn’t even sure if he should feel self-conscious at all. Were people really talking about him? Did they really think he could be Vincent’s latest conquest?

Was Elio that interesting to these people? He didn’t know this town that well just yet. Were they really that bored that they had to focus their interest on him, and on something that didn’t even happen?

There was no point in worrying about such things. No point, or he would end up checking every person and every stare, wondering if the look some one gave him was a curious one or just accidental, mistrusting every word and every gesture. Elio didn’t want to be that person.

He held on to Lady’s mane, let the horse walk slowly alongside the main road, tried not to think.

Soon, the church came into view. The place where Oliver and he had been to watch the recital. The last time they had been happy, they had been good together, even if for only a few minutes.

Elio bit his lip. He’d love to listen to that piano, playing, again. Sadly, he was sure no one was there to play at this time in the day; he was sure that piano didn’t get used much, anyway.

All the same, he dismounted, hitched Lady to a post nearby, and walked into the small church.

Churches always smelled a certain way - he remembered it from when he was a child, the few times he’d been to one. It was the incense, Mafalda always used to say.

This one was no different.

It didn’t look the same now, empty, not like that night when the audience had filled the seats. Now, the room was quiet, the seats dormant; the piano, tucked in a corner and waiting, also, empty, silent.

Elio walked up to it. Sat down on one of the wooden benches. Let himself think. Remember the other night, the melody coming from the keys. Wondered where that young man was now, that had played them so masterfully.

Had he been pleased with his performance? Did he leave, that night, chest puffed up with pride, eager to tell everyone about the accolade he’d received?

And who did he tell? His mother, his father? Were his parents proud of him?

Did he have a partner, Elio wondered. Did he have someone who he shared his life with, just like Elio did? Did they celebrate together?

Elio sighed at the thought. His eyes still on the piano, on the dust that greyed the keys, he thought. Of himself. Of Oliver.

He didn’t know what was happening; but then, he didn’t suppose he would.This was his first relationship. The first, real exchange with another person. He was only seventeen.

And yet at that age he’d felt ready to get married. Married, as much as they could be - in name only, because of course they couldn’t have papers - but with all the practicalities, and the duties, and the realities of any other couple with rings on their fingers.

Elio had felt ready and he still did. But it was hard. And sometimes, he didn’t know what to do. He’d tried his best, and Oliver had tried his best, and yet here they were.

And Elio didn’t know what to do.

He looked back up, from his knees to the piano again. Still there, silent, patient.

Elio missed it. His piano. His parents. Even Mafalda.

He missed Sadie, and he missed Susan. He missed the others from the gang - apart from Albert, they’d all been nice to him. Welcoming. They’d all looked out for him. Perhaps because he belonged to Oliver, sure. But still.

Elio wondered what they would think of him and Oliver right now, what they would say of what was happening between them.

Back home, growing up, Elio used to think that his life was so ordinary. So quiet, so orderly. So proper, and boring. He used to think that nothing ever happened.And now, so much had happened in so little time. He’d only been with Oliver for a few months, and yet, it felt like years.

And he didn’t want it to end now.

Yes, this was his first relationship - and it was an intense one. But he didn’t want it to end, already.

He didn’t want to have had a husband, and to have lost him, at seventeen.

He felt his eyes burn, and sighed, stood. He didn’t want to cry again.He gave another look at the piano, and then turned around, walked towards the door - perhaps he could go for another ride with Lady, now that it was full morning, and the rays of the sun had started to warm the air a little more. Perhaps that would help distract his thoughts from Oliver, and from everything that he was missing; at least for a little while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Oliver returned from work, that evening, Elio warmed up some tinned soup for their dinner. As he set the table, his eye fell on the frame the older man had made for their photograph. He must have put it away in the kitchen drawer while he waited to put it up on the wall - and then everything else had happened, and he’d forgotten about it.

He didn’t know why he didn’t stop to think, before speaking.

“We haven’t even put this up yet.”

His tone wasn’t reproachful, just wishful, as he looked at the frame, flat on the table and empty of their image.

And yet, it was a stupid question. After everything that had happened, why was a framed picture important right now? They had more important problems to solve.

“I didn’t have time to do it.”

Oliver’s voice was also flat. With nothing to hide. Just objective - there hadn’t been time. He’d forgotten about it.

They’d been tangled up in something else that had taken priority, taken over their thoughts, over whether their posed, smiling photograph was going to hang on the wall or not.

Elio looked over at him, nodded. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, after all.

Perhaps for Oliver to say oh, no, how could we have forgotten, I’ll do it as soon as I have a moment, I’ll do it tonight. Perhaps for him to walk over, hug Elio from behind like he used to do, hold him and smile about that frame he’d made and about their faces in the photo.

But Oliver did neither - and maybe, that’s what Elio had really been expecting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio went upstairs to their bedroom when Oliver stepped out to smoke his cigar, undressed, and curled up in bed. He meant to wait for Oliver, but he dozed off for a while; and when he blinked his eyes open, Oliver was finally in the room - removing his own clothes, quietly.

The bedroom was dark, but the moon outside made the edges of everything shine. And Elio could see the lines of Oliver’s naked body, his arms, shoulders, his chest and belly and his thighs.

He missed Oliver, he missed him so much. He desired him.

There was still so much silence between them, Elio didn’t even know why. As if something had broken - and that made him so desperate. He didn’t know how to fix it, whatever it was that no longer worked. No one had ever told him how to repair such a rift in a relationship.

And so he couldn’t hold himself back, when his hand reached for Oliver’s arm almost on its own. He stayed laying down, just held on to Oliver’s wrist, looked up at him until his husband looked back down, into his eyes. Naked in the dark of the room, looking like a beautiful, perfect marble statue.

Elio didn’t let go of him, but pulled gently on his arm until Oliver knelt on the bed and hovered over him. Elio reached out with both hands, cupped his face, pulled him close to join their mouths.

It felt so good to be kissing Oliver again and Elio moaned softly against his lips. With his other hand, he pulled the blanket out of the way, uncovering himself where he was naked, offering himself.

Oliver breathed deep, returned the kiss. And Elio’s heart beat, fast - he needed this, he wanted this. This wasn’t a solution but it was the next best thing, and Elio had missed Oliver and wanted him, and he knew that Oliver always felt better when he got to make love to him.

And so Elio moaned again, reaching up to deepen the kiss - guiding Oliver’s large hand to stroke down his nude, slender body, until it could nestle between his legs, to do all the things that Oliver liked to do to him.

But, just when that hand was right there, and stroked Elio, once, as if it couldn’t help it - just then, the contact disappeared.

The hand went to join the other one cupping Elio’s face and Oliver kissed his lips once more, then pulled himself up, letting Elio go.

“Oliver?” Elio looked up at him, confused. Frowning.

“Not now,” Oliver said, only. “Let’s just - let’s go to sleep.”

He kissed Elio’s forehead, briefly, and then lied down in the other side of the bed, without saying anything else. And Elio could only watch, confused, uncomprehending.

“Why?” He’d never had to ask why they weren’t going to have sex.

“I just need to sleep,” Oliver replied, quietly. “It’s been a long day.”

He wasn’t touching him, wasn’t taking him into his arms as he would when they were getting ready to sleep. He was leaving space between them, and that was strange, to Elio. Disconcerting.

He thought of demanding an explanation. He thought of getting up and going to sleep downstairs. He thought of putting his clothes back on, and curling up in the tightest ball away from Oliver on the bed.

But he hesitated. Whatever he chose to do, it sounded childish in his head - and he didn’t want to be a child.

“Come, Elio. Let’s sleep.”

Oliver’s voice was quiet, and he hadn’t opened his eyes.

Still confused, Elio blinked, took a deep breath. Laid back down, supine, pulling the blankets over his nudity; listening to Oliver’s breathing, as it slowed down, and soon reached the rhythm of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay - real life again keeping me busy! 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your comments. You guys are the best.
> 
> Ps if anyone has any pictures, or edits that remind you of this story, please send to me on Twitter or tumblr :) x


	53. The wagon to Fort Smith

“I saw you here, the past few days. You come often.”

The elderly voice reached Elio, no louder than a whisper, as he sat on one of the benches inside the church.

He turned around and saw Reverend Swanson, the town’s minister, standing by the side of the room, a gentle smile on his face.

“I -“ Elio wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t religious - he didn’t come to the church to pray. But could he say he liked to sit there, in front of the piano, to think? To reminisce?

Would it make any sense?

“I saw you at the recital, too,” the reverend spoke then, when Elio’s voice couldn’t put words together. “Is it that piano, that fascinates you?”

Now, that was an easier question to answer.

“I - I used to play. As a child. I don’t have a piano now, I can’t afford one, but - maybe one day. For now, I just - like to listen to it.”

Slowly, Reverend Swanson sat next to him, and nodded.

“It’s a beautiful instrument, isn’t it.” He stared ahead of him, to the piano by the side of the altar, just like Elio had done. “This one, however, in this church. It doesn’t get used much. It’s a shame.”

Elio nodded, and the Reverend continued.

“The truth is that we don’t have anyone to play, you see. There’s a festival, in Fort Smith, in a couple of days. Our congregation used to always have someone going to represent - this piano, oh - it had some glory days...”

“What happened?” Elio asked, curious.

“Two years ago our pianist, Joe, was taken ill. Pneumonia, they said. The poor soul.” The Reverend looked up to the altar, crossed his heart in reverence. “Since then, well. What farmer learns to play the piano? It’s simple people, here. They don’t have the time, or the inclination.”

Elio nodded again.

“So, that recital, that night..?”

“Sometimes someone from out of town stops by in their travel, and we manage to put up a show for our congregation. People complain that it’s not often enough - but we can only work with what we have.”

The next thing Elio said, he didn’t know where it had come from. He didn’t think before he spoke - and once the words were out, his heart skipped a beat.

“I would love to play that piano. Even just once.”

He hadn’t expected Reverend Swanson to listen to him, let alone to react.

“Oh, but of course! You did say you used to play. How did I not think of it? It’s a splendid idea, child!”

“I - I don’t mean I should play for - for the people.” Elio rushed to correct, his heart in his throat. He didn’t mean he was at the same level as the artist who played at the recital, he didn’t mean he could take his place. “I just mean - maybe, sometimes, I could play, if the piano has to be left here unused...”

“But of course!” Reverend Swanson was beaming. It was as if his face had acquired a new light; his eyes glittered. “Why don’t you - why don’t you play something now, for me? I’m sure you’re a beautiful pianist. Come, child.”

And he stood, walking unsteadily towards the piano, unlatching the little chain that kept patrons out of bounds from it, and then stepping aside to let Elio walk over, and take a seat on the stool.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Elio returned home, later that afternoon, his heart was all over the place.

What had happened, earlier, had been totally and completely unexpected.

But the rush he’d felt when he touched the keys - when he’d played the piano for all but one audience member - had been something unbelievable, something he didn’t remember ever feeling, perhaps because before, when he had a chance to play whenever he wanted, he had taken it for granted.

Now, his fingers remembering the movements, what to touch, the sounds reverberating from the instrument and into the empty church had shocked him in a way that was so unexpected - and yet, it felt like something he had been waiting for.

His hands still trembled a little, even now. He’d had to sit down on the couch, run his fingers through his unruly curls to try and calm down.

Reverend Swanson had liked the way he played. Reverend Swanson wanted him to go to Forth Smith, for the festival, to play as Aurora Rock’s pianist.

There was going to be a cash compensation; a modest one, but still. And he would need to be in Forth Smith for five days, performing every afternoon and every evening.

He would need to be away from Oliver. He would need to leave the next day.

Reverend Swanson had called this chance meeting a ‘gift from God’, and Elio surely thought it seemed like fate. 

He didn’t want to leave Oliver, of course; he didn’t want to be separated from him.

But it was Oliver, perhaps, that wanted to be away from him. He seemed still angry, still hurt - and Elio didn’t know what to do. Perhaps some time apart was what they needed.

There was still the problem of how to tell Oliver, and what Oliver was going to say about it. 

As he watched Rufus eat his supper, Elio thought. He didn’t want to get into another fight with his husband. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He cooked for Oliver like every night, arranging slices of bread on the table like he knew his husband liked, sat next to him, eating quietly, answering Oliver’s questions when they came.

How was your day, did Belle try to escape again; have you been into town.

Oliver thanked him for the food, and smiled, and Elio looked down, because seeing Oliver smile made him want to kiss him, but he didn’t know if he could, if Oliver wanted to.

And so he stood, walked over to the bucket to soak up their bowls. And then went to the stove to boil some hot water for tea, just for something to do.

His heart beat fast with the thought of what he was planning to do. His cheeks burned with shame, because even a month ago he would have never thought of doing something like that. But he truly felt like he was stuck in a rut, unable to go further, incapable of turning back. He didn’t want to move on, but he didn’t want to stay still, because where he currently was was proving to be too painful.

There was something he needed to do, however.

Announcing he was going to get ready for bed, he walked up to Oliver as he was about to leave the house to settle the horses for the night; and looked up at him, swallowed.

Told him, “I love you.”

Oliver had seemed a little taken aback - as if he was wondering to what he owed that declaration. And Elio held his eyes for a few moments, and then stood on tiptoes, kissed Oliver’s cheek, just on the corner of his mouth. And then padded towards the hallway, disappearing up the stairs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next evening, he was ready.

He’d packed his dress shirt and trousers, the ones they’d bought for the recital, and a change of clothes for when he didn’t have to wear the show attire. He’d worn his good shoes, and combed his curls, hoping they would stay in place as much as possible. He didn’t know if Rufus was welcome in any way, but he was going to take him along.

When the Reverend’s carriage came, and Elio saw it from the window, he took a deep breath. His hands trembled, and he felt so terrified, but something told him he needed to do this. He told himself he had to.

He was clutching an envelope in his hand, and he walked over to the table, placed it right in the middle of it, in full view. Oliver’s name was signed on the back of it, Elio’s messy, bubbly handwriting instantly recognisable.

Then Elio gave the house one last look, to make sure everything was tidy, and that the salted beef was ready and waiting for Oliver’s dinner; and he picked up his bag, and Rufus - made himself leave the house and board the wagon to Fort Smith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters in one day... sorry!! ;)


	54. A letter full of apologies

When Oliver returned from work that night, the house was quiet.

There was no light on inside, which was strange already, and no Rufus barking on the other side of the door.

By the time Oliver stepped inside, he had already set his jaw. Frowned. None of it sounded good, but he told himself not to worry just yet. Surely, there was an explanation.

He didn’t care about taking off his jacket or boots, of course. All he cared about was to scan the room for Elio, or for signs of him.

But there was no Elio, and no Rufus.

When Oliver saw the envelope on the table, which was neatly set for his dinner as always, he knew there was no point in going to look upstairs for his husband.

He picked up the letter. Opened it, with haste. Pulled out the piece of paper where, in black dried ink, Elio’s handwriting greeted him, clear as day.

 

 

_Oliver_

_This will be a letter full of apologies._

_Starting with I am sorry that I am telling you this through a letter. But it was best._

_I am going to be away for a few days._

_You shouldn’t worry. I will be safe, I promise._

_I have been asked to play the piano at a festival which lasts five days, and I really wanted to do it. I think it’s going to be really good for me._

_I am sorry that I haven’t talked to you about it, but it happened so quickly. And also, I thought it would be best not to. You’ve been so busy, and so tired. I didn’t want to add another thing for you to worry about._

_I think I’ve been making it harder for you. I hate to think that, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry if I have._

_I tried to be helpful and to make things a little easier, as much as I could, but I don’t think it worked. I am sorry. Mafalda always told me that I am messy and that I demand too much. So it was only a matter of time before I tired you, as well._

_I thought it’ll be good for you to have a few days without me around._

_Like I said, I will be safe._

_Please don’t be angry. And please don’t worry._

_I’ve taken Rufus with me. I will be back, afterwards. Unless you don’t want me to._

_I’ve taken my ring, your ring. Because I still want to be married to you. I hope you still want to be married to me, too._

_I love you, Oliver. I will always love you._

_Yours,_

_Elio_

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver sat down on the couch. The piece of paper clutched in his hand. His other hand, running over his face, rubbing at his temple. His heart beating fast.

The first, instinctual thought he had was that Elio had been taken. That the letter was a fake, that this time, his kidnappers had been clever enough to think of a decoy, not stupid like the Mudbrood, who let everyone catch them in plain view.

But as much as he wanted to think that, he knew that, undeniably, that was Elio’s handwriting, and his way of speaking - his mentions of the ring, of Rufus. Of course that was Elio.

His first instinct had been to think that Elio was in danger but if that wasn’t the case, if he hadn’t been taken, then - where had he gone? Why hadn’t he said?

And was he leaving him?

Oliver didn’t usually experience anxiety - he’d always solved problems as they appeared, it was survival, it was a matter of life or death - any moment spent aimlessly worrying could cost him dearly.

But now, now that this was about Elio, now that his heart was beating fast, he had to take a deep breath to calm down, to try and be rational.

Elio had left. He’d left him. To go where? And with who?

Oliver rubbed his hand on his face again. Set his teeth.

Had he been right all along, this whole time?

He stood, placed the letter back on the table. He tried to tell himself to calm down, keep his wits about him. It was, perhaps, the first time in his life that he couldn’t.

He left the house and returned to Arthur, mounting the horse and riding back into town. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was late, but Vincent opened the door as soon as Oliver screamed his name.

He looked, infuriatingly, as polished and well dressed as always, except for his eyes, which had gone wide - and then wider when Oliver walked into his studio and pushed against his chest, a snarl painted all over his face.

“Tell me where Elio is.”

He was definitely going crazy with fear, with distress, with anger. He would have never thought of doing something like this, otherwise; but the the vision of Vincent, frowning, fixing his bow tie like it had just been a gust of wind disturbing it and not an angry man’s fist, made Oliver see red. 

“Tell me! Right now!” he screamed at the photographer, squeezing his hands into fists to stop himself from attacking again.

“Elio?” Vincent really had the courage to look confused. “Why would I know where Elio is?”

“Don’t you dare fuck with me,” Oliver snarled, took a step towards the man - and Vincent took a step back. “Tell me!”

“Why would I know where your help boy is?”

“Because he’s not home. Because he’s left, and I don’t know where he is.” Oliver’s voice wasn’t louder than a growl, and he made himself breathe, to counteract the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

Vincent, instead, looked poised still. His eyes no longer wide; just his eyebrows shot up at Oliver’s words.

“I see. So he’s not home, and you think he’s with me?” He frowned. “Listen, partner, I -“

“It’s Mister Oliver for you, partner,” Oliver growled.

“-Mister Oliver. Fine. Look, I’m sorry that you don’t know where your - your, whatever you call it these days. Your boy. I’m sorry that you don’t know where he is. But I’ve got nothing to do with it.”

“That’s not what I heard!” Oliver shouted then. And he hadn’t meant to; with his outburst, he’d given Vincent way too much information.

Vincent raised his hand, his eyebrows shot upwards again, a half-smile on his face that Oliver really wanted to punch away.

“I see I see. You heard the chatter, haven’t you. I mean, I guess I’m used to it - I have many admirers, you see.” He had to take another step back, because Oliver walked forward, his hand up in a fist, ready to push Vincent against the wall.

How dare he imply that Elio was one of his admirers.

“You think I’ve slept with Elio? Well, he’s very beautiful, but alas, not one of my lovers. I haven’t touched him.”

Oliver still felt like growling, still felt like pushing Vincent against the wall with all the pent-up frustration he had been feeling for the past few days. But he stopped, tried to slow down his breathing, and process what Vincent had just said.

“Mister Oliver, I knew you were the possessive type,” Vincent spoke again, and when Oliver made to speak, he was quicker than him. “Come, friend, we both know he isn’t your helper boy. The good thing is that we both play for the same team. So don’t worry about that.”

“Do you know how to goddamn say anything straight?” Oliver interrupted. “Or do you only talk in circles? I guess that works better when you have to trick young men into sleeping with you?” he snarled, low this time. Threatening.

“I haven’t tricked anyone. I don’t need to.” Vincent raised his hands again, and now he seemed calm. No longer surprised, no longer shocked. As if he’d realised what was going on.

He took a couple steps backwards, his hands still up, and then, once he reached his desk, he picked up a cigarette and a match. Lit it up, calm as anything.

“Mister Oliver. Look. I’m not a jealous person, because, well, with my lifestyle, I couldn’t be, could I?”

“Get to the fucking point, Vincent,” Oliver growled again. He couldn’t believe this man, standing there, smoking and trying to preach to him.

“-but,” Vincent elongated the word, as if he were speaking to an impatient child. “You are clearly being eaten up by jealousy over that boy, and I can’t blame you, because he’s stunning, but - there’s no need. I haven’t touched him. He hasn’t let me.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, he hasn’t let you?”

Vincent’s eyes widened again, for a split second. He seemed to consider his options; turned around to look at the back exit. But then, bafflingly, he only took a step back, and puffed another drag from his cigarette.

“Listen, please don’t punch me. It’s been maybe - three months since the last time someone punched me. I could do with waiting a little longer. But no, he hasn’t let me, even though I propositioned him.”

In two steps, Oliver was on him. Grabbed him by the neck of his shirt, slapped the cigarette out of his hand. “You - propositioned him??”, he screamed in Vincent’s face.

“I only wanted him to have the option! He’s young, he’s so young, come on Mister Oliver.” Oliver growled again at that, pushed him, dragged him back until he could slam him against the wall.

“But he said no!” Vincent screamed. As if that confession was his get out of jail free card. “Mister Oliver, he wouldn’t be persuaded. He said he loves you. Trust me, that boy’s never going to be unfaithful to you.”

Oliver felt his heart beat so fast, he was almost light headed. And he felt so enraged, at the same time. About so many things.

He wanted to punch Vincent in the face. He wanted to strangle him, he wanted to throw him to the ground, he wanted to shout and curse him.

He wanted to do all those things because of him, but also, because of himself. Because he was angry, furious, with both.

With Vincent, because he had dared to come on to Elio; with himself, because he had let his jealousy sway his thinking so much that he had accused Elio without proof, that he hadn’t believed him, that he’d let the whole thing hurt and separate them.

He’d been such a colossal idiot.

“Mister Oliver. Please. Boys like Elio have men drooling after them. It’s not a surprise- you’re not the only one.”

Oliver couldn’t believe Vincent’s cheek. The man must be completely stupid - or completely crazy. He slammed him back against the wall again, because he was furious, furious, and he wished he could do even more.

“Just tell me where he is. I know you know it.” Oliver’s voice was low. Flat. Controlled - he was trying really hard not to do something he would end up having to pay for.

“I only know what I heard from the town chatter. I listen to it too, you know,” and Oliver had to slam him against the wall again before he actually answered. “What I heard - what I heard, is that Reverend Swanson asked him for play the piano for Aurora Rock. That’s all I know. You’d have to ask the Reverend for anything else.”

It was what Elio had said in his letter - and Oliver looked down, swallowed around the guilt and anger he felt towards himself. Elio hadn’t lied. At all.

And it had taken speaking to sleazy Vincent for Oliver to realise it.

He let Vincent go, pushing him back again. With an aplomb that didn’t seem like could belong to him, Vincent just stepped back - and then raised his hands again, as if to pacify an angry wolf, going to fix his bow tie once more when he saw that Oliver wasn’t about to try to assault him again. 

Oliver closed his eyes for a moment. As if to clear a layer of fog in front of him, that rage and distress that he had felt at the thought of Elio being gone from him.

And if he thought that he’d lived his whole life not wanting to get attached to anyone, least they left, or they died; if he thought that, until he met Elio, he’d succeeded in his plan.

And now, look at him. Raging, trembling, losing his mind at the thought of Elio not being safe and with him.

Oliver sighed. Set his jaw, looked up at Vincent, still standing in front of him. His eyebrows up high on his forehead.

“If you ever,” Oliver started. Speaking slowly, his voice grave. “If you ever even breathe in the vicinity of Elio, again. You can consider yourself a dead man. I give you my word.”

He stared at Vincent, who kept quiet. One last, long stare.

And then he turned around, suddenly, impatient to leave.

“Mister Oliver, if I may.”

Oliver stopped walking at Vincent’s voice, stood, rigid. He was tempted to tell him to save his useless breath.

“I know, I know, you haven’t asked for advice. But if I may - if you find out where Elio is now, I would - I would give him a head start, if I were you. So to speak. Let him be for a couple of days. Space - space is good.” He chuckled, awkwardly. “And I would know!”

Oliver set his jaw again, and wanted so badly to tell Vincent to shut the hell up. But he didn’t; he didn’t turn around. He hesitated a moment; and then he walked out, into the town immersed in the night.


	55. The Waves

Oliver sat on the step outside the door to their house, thinking, until late that night.

He believed at some point that he could start to see the sky getting lighter, dawn advancing slowly but inexorably; and that was when he decided to stand and retire inside, once he was exhausted, cold to the bone due to the chilly air of the night. Famished and yet not wanting to eat anything at all.

He made himself lie on the bed, on their bed, the blanket over which had been obviously arranged neatly by Elio earlier that day. 

Elio was everywhere in that house.

In the books on the kitchen shelf and in the messy bags of flour on the floor. In the way the table was clean and tidy while the couch had lots of blankets thrown haphazardly over it.

In the way the plants in the garden were growing, slowly but steadily, young, yet strong, a perfect metaphor for Elio.

In the way the bed where they made love every night still smelled like him.

Forcing himself to wait, to not go after his husband just yet, had been torture. Deep down, Oliver knew that Vincent’s advice was sound, as much as he hated to admit it. But waiting hurt. It made his chest constrict, it made his mind conjure up images that heightened his worry, that made him anxious and tense and desperate all at once.

This is what happened when you got attached to someone - his father would have probably loved to remind him of that, had he been there now.

By six in the morning, Oliver capitulated.

He left the house, directed to the church, intent on speaking to Reverend Swanson, find out where Elio was.

He was his husband. It was only fair that Oliver wanted to know where he was, and that he was safe.

“He’s fine. Doing well, actually, from what I hear,” Reverend Swanson told him, when he came to see Oliver on the door to the church.

“May I please know where he is.” Oliver did his best to remember he was speaking to the town’s minister.

“In Fort Smith. Did he not tell you?” the Reverend asked, patiently.

Oliver shook his head, took a breath. “No. As it happens, no, he didn’t.”

“Ah. Not the best course of action for a helpboy. But what’s done is done, I suppose. You can go and see him though. Anytime.”

The Reverend was looking at Oliver with such a trusting, non-judgemental expression in his eyes, that Oliver was only able to nod, look away, towards the road. He surely wasn’t going to tell him that what he really wanted was to find Elio, and beg him to come back home, with him. That he wanted to go to him and bring him back, back into his arms and into his house, that he wanted to fix whatever had happened between them so that Elio would be happy with him again.

“Elio is performing today at five in the evening,” Reverend Swanson said, placed his hand on Oliver’s shoulder encouragingly. “The Festival is held in the town hall. It’s easy to find.”

Oliver looked back up at him; then took another deep breath, and nodded.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fort Smith was a fairly large town. Not as big as a capital city, nothing like that; but it was industrial, built around a number of factories, which mostly produced textiles and wood and had meant that the townfolks that populated it enjoyed quite a modern, hectic lifestyle.

As far as leisure and entertainment, Fort Smith was as big a town as any other major city.It had a theatre, a dance hall, various saloons and, of course, parlor houses. The town hall was a tall, important looking building. Impossible to miss, as a man who Oliver had asked directions off had described it.

Oliver hitched Arthur just outside, watching the people who were flocking to the venue. Women with long, colourful dresses, men with tall hats and moustaches. They all seemed excited, and Oliver didn’t know much about the festival, but he supposed it must be quite the event if all the nearby towns were participating and sending one of their local artists to take part.

Once inside the town hall, Oliver looked around himself.Guests were taking their seats. Oliver looked toward the stage; tried to spot Elio, there, somewhere. But there wasn’t anyone just yet.

And in fact, Oliver had to wait until the end of the show before Elio appeared.

The presenter - a man in a turquoise blue frock cost - introduced Elio to the audience.

And there he was. Wearing his suit; his curls combed. Smiling, he gave a little bow, and sat on the stool by the piano, while the presenter said a few words for him.

“Elio will play for us a piece called Le Onde, which is Italian for, ‘The Waves’.”

Oliver had never heard of that. But he’d never talked with Elio about music. About the pieces Elio knew, the ones he loved.

He watched as the presenter left the stage, and Elio was alone - the room bathed in silence, as he prepared to play. Back straight, a look of concentration on his face; he gently moved his fingers on the keys.

And the melody started.

Delicate. Tentative, at the beginning. With Elio just stroking the ivory on the piano, teasing it with the tips of his fingers.

And then the music gained strength, still slow, and soft, but confident, more intent, with a clear path to follow that mimicked the circular movement of waves crashing against the shore. Back, and forth. Back, and forth.

There was sadness, then hope, then sadness again. Then hope. It felt like the passing of time, like bringing back memories. Like saying goodbye to people you will never see again.

When Elio finished his performance, and the audience clapped, Oliver had to blink to come back to himself.

He’d been so transfixed with watching Elio play, that he needed a moment to reconnect with where he was, to remember that he was surrounded by a group of strangers - to bring himself back to the present, to realise what he had just witnessed.

The wonderful pianist there, on stage, was Elio.

His Elio.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The guests were slowly trickling out, heading back to their evenings and their homes, and Oliver stood, walked closer to the stage.

Elio was still there, surrounded by three other people, one of them being the presenter. They were talking to him, excitedly, and Elio was laughing, smiling back. His cheeks were rosy, healthy. He looked happy.

Oliver stopped a few feet from the stage, watching. He didn’t make a sound, didn’t call out for Elio.

If he were to be completely honest, he didn’t know what he was doing, there.

He’d come to bring Elio back with him. To ask him to return to their cottage, to try again so that they could still chase their dream of having a ranch and run it together.

But now, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if he could do what he had planned. He didn’t know if he wanted to.

One of the two men on stage with Elio laughed, shook Elio’s hand; and then, by pure accident, Elio looked towards the seats, and his eyes connected with Oliver’s.

His expression changed immediately.

Where he was smiling, his lips tightened into a concerned line. He blinked, frowning. He didn’t look angry; he looked worried, sad. Perhaps, a little frightened.

Oliver raised his chin, and Elio turned to the people on stage with him, asked them to excuse him a moment, and then walked down to where Oliver was, near the first row of seats.

“I -Ididn’t see you, in the audience,” Elio murmured quietly. His eyes were bright. He looked tense.

Oliver swallowed. Looked down at the boy.

He raised a hand, reached it out towards Elio’s face - and the boy closed his eyes reflexively, bit his lower lip. Didn’t move.

But Oliver just stroked Elio’s cheek. With the back of his hand, fingers bent at the knuckle. So gently.

“It was beautiful.” His voice was also quiet. “You were beautiful.”

Elio opened his eyes on him - surprised, huge.

Oliver gave him a small, sad smile; and then he turned around, and walked out. Left the town hall, mounting Arthur and directing him, on a slow trot, back to Aurora Rock.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The piece that Elio plays, Le Onde, is one of my favourite pieces of music ever. 
> 
> Now, I am taking a little poetic license here, because Le Onde did not exist in the 19th century - it’s a recent work. 
> 
> But I’ve decided it exists in my AU - so I hope you can also suspend your disbelief with me :)
> 
> If you want to listen to it, here’s the link to the official video: https://youtu.be/EmStlUk8dKE
> 
> It’s really very beautiful. 
> 
>  
> 
> Love from me XX


	56. Stay

Rufus yapped, wagged his tail; and then jumped, going for Elio’s face, licking it all over.

Sat on the floor, in the back room of the town hall, his hands on Rufus’s thick shaggy fur, Elio laughed, let the dog lick his nose once more before hugging him to his chest, laughing again when Rufus tried to wiggle away to be allowed to lick Elio’s face for a bit longer.

Next to him, Kit, one of the church’s altar boys, smiled at the dog’s antics.

“I wish I could have a dog, too,” he said. He held a bunch of grapes in his hand, ate each berry slowly, one by one.

“Can’t you?” Elio asked, watching Rufus as the dog finally sat down, his tail still wagging, still looking at Elio, excited as ever.

“Mother doesn’t like dogs. She was bitten by one when she was a girl,” Kit supplied. He sighed, in frustration, as if his mother were actually right there to see. 

Elio smiled. Kit was only fourteen, and a lot of the times, it showed.

He was a good kid, though.

“That guy came to see the show last night, again,” Kit said then, changing the subject abruptly. He ate another grape, looked at Elio questioningly.

Elio didn’t look up at him; ruffled Rufus’s fur.

“What guy?”

“The tall one. He comes every night. He always sits in the second row, to the side. And looks at you.”

Of course, Elio knew who Kit meant. But that Oliver had been to see him every day since the first night he came - that was news for him.

“He- he’s come every night?”

He hesitated. Glanced at Kit, then looked back down at Rufus, who was now growling playfully around a piece of cloth. “I didn’t know.” His cheeks felt warm.

“Who is it?” Kit asked, throwing the grape stems to the floor.

Elio sighed. “My companion.”

“Ah.”

It seemed like Kit wanted to ask more, was about to; but he opened his mouth, then closed it again. Didn’t ask.

And Elio did not volunteer any information.

He’d been trying not to think about Oliver - about him and Oliver, about their relationship. He’d been trying really hard. Of course, there was no way that he could just forget about him; Oliver occupied his thoughts, all day, every day.

But Elio had tried not to think of their problems. Of Oliver being so quiet, lately, of Oliver being upset with him. Of Oliver thinking he’d cheated on him, that he’d slept with another man. Of Oliver, rejecting him, refusing to make love to him.

He had tried, but it hadn’t worked. Even when he was playing - especially when he was playing - Oliver was always in his mind, making his heart beat, his eyes close, his body move with the melody forming from his fingers as they touched the keys. Heartache created art, is what his music teacher always used to say. 

Now Elio knew that he’d meant; but, having gained that knowledge, he wished he’d been allowed to remain ignorant. To not experience that pain.

Music be damned, art be damned. The ache in his chest and in his mind was too strong. The thought of Oliver not wanting him anymore made him feel sick.

He’d been so scared when he left Aurora Rock, but he’d felt like he had to do it.

And he’d been so scared when he saw Oliver by the stage, waiting for him.

He’d been so scared that he hadn’t been able to think straight. He thought Oliver would shout at him. He thought he would hit him. Some people, even in the more modern Fort Smith, he was sure, would think that he deserved such a treatment. Only someone irresponsible, only a selfish person who just cared about their own needs and neglected those of his family would leave like Elio did. No respectable spouse would.

But Oliver, of course, had done none of that.

He’d told Elio that he was beautiful, that his playing was beautiful.

Watching him leave, after that, Elio had wondered how he could have thought such horrible things about his husband.

He knew that Oliver had loved him. They’d had their share of problems lately - but Elio hardly felt like he was innocent in that.

And now? Now Oliver had come to see him every night, travelled to Fort Smith after a long day of work just to see him play.

Oliver missed him. Perhaps Oliver still loved him.

And Elio missed him, too, and loved him. more than anything else in the world.

He just hoped that Oliver could forgive him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That night was the last of the festival, and Elio was buzzing. Tired, but excited, proud of what he had accomplished.

He’d been wondering how he was doing - if the church liked him, if the audience thought he was on par with the other, older musicians. But Reverend Swanson, in Fort Smith that night to attend the finale, had taken him aside that afternoon, right after rehearsal. Congratulated him, told him he’d done a wonderful job - that the congregation would love to see him again.

Adjusting his dress jacket in front of the mirror, Elio fixed the bow tie that the festival dressmaker had given him to wear because it went well with his suit.

He needed to speak to Oliver.

Just the thought of seeing him again made him nervous, and gave him butterflies at the very same time. They hadn’t really had any time without each other ever since they met, since Oliver had rescued him - this was the first time they spent any real time apart. Elio had read, in poems and novels, of the symptoms of being in love, the effects of a loved one’sabsence - and he supposed this was what he was experiencing, now.

He wondered if Oliver would come and see him that night. He hoped he would.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The whole night went by so fast, like a blur. The town hall was full to the brim with guests; his heart beating wild, Elio had tried to scan the audience, trying to spot Oliver there.

And he saw him. Towards the back, this time; but there.

He played with his whole soul, his fingers creating the melody as if on their own, any fear and insecurity dissipated like a cloud of smoke in the wind.

In the end, he stood, smiled at the applauding audience, watched flowers being thrown onto the stage. Heard the presenter praise him, telling patrons look, Elio! He’s only seventeen!

But there was only one person Elio wanted to speak to, after everything was over.

As people left the hall in a chatter, conversing and congratulating, Elio walked down from the stage and towards Oliver, who was standing near the wall; waiting.

“You came.” Elio’s voice was just a whisper.

Oliver’s lips stretched into a gentle smile.

“Of course.” He took a breath. “It was wonderful.”

Elio nodded, bit his lower lip. 

“I - I missed you,” he made himself say. His traitorous heart was beating fast again, uncaring, even though Elio had tried to keep himself calm, remind himself this was Oliver - this was his husband.

“I came to see you every night,” Oliver said. And Elio knew; but hearing it from him, his chest felt so full.

So Elio needed to tell him.

“Oliver, I...” he started, looked up at Oliver, and had to take another breath before he could speak again. “Reverend Swanson said I did really well. He wants me to play for the church, at the next event. Like - like a job.” He blinked, didn’t look away from Oliver’s eyes. “It’s not every day, just, just when there’s need. I would still look after the house. But he wants me to travel, to festivals, things like this one.”

He waited, to give Oliver time to process the information, give him a chance to react.

But Oliver just nodded, after a moment; didn’t say anything. His eyes, however, were clear; his smile, still gentle.

“Elio!” Kit called out to him then, appearing through a door, running down from the stage. “Elio. Are you not coming? There’s drinks for the group. The Reverend asked for everyone.”

Elio nodded to him, ‘Just one moment.’ When Kit disappeared back where he appeared from, Elio looked at Oliver again. He couldn’t help but worry.

“You should go,” Oliver murmured to him. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Elio frowned. “Oliver...”

“It’s okay,” Oliver nodded, reached out with a hand, stroked Elio’s arm, just one moment. “I’m going home now, anyway. So don’t worry. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He smiled gently again, at Elio, nodded once more, to reassure. And then he turned around, and started walking back towards the exit.

But Elio couldn’t do this.

“Oliver.”

He called out to him, hearing his own voice in the silence of the hall. He watched Oliver stop, slowly turn around. Elio looked right into his eyes once again.

“Don’t go.” He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know what he was asking.

No, actually - he knew. He knew exactly what he was asking. 

“Don’t go, Oliver. Please. Stay with me.”

Three words - but they meant so much; on so many levels. Elio breathed, trying to keep up with the mad beating of his heart, when he felt like he was running out of air.

He kept his eyes on Oliver, wide and pleading, watched as the older man’s expression changed. From controlled, to unguarded - finally real, finally true. His eyes were sad; but his lips were smiling. Just gently, just tentatively - but still a smile.

And Elio smiled back, briefly. Then he closed the distance between them, the few steps that separated them. Stepped on tiptoes when he was one breath away from Oliver, and kissed him.

And Oliver kissed him back, of course, after a moment cupped Elio’s face in his large hands as he always did, and it was so familiar, his touch, his taste, that Elio moaned gently in his mouth, the pent-up longing and ache and concern and worry making him unbridled, raw.

Oliver hummed against him, too, slid a hand from his cheek to his side and to the small of his back, pulling him harder against himself.

Elio broke the kiss, nuzzled Oliver’s nose with his, leant his forehead against the older man’s, looking into his eyes.

“Stay the night,” his voice was a murmur, but didn’t waver. “Stay with me.”

And Oliver kissed him again, held him tight and kissed him deeply, right there in the middle of the empty hall.

There would be time to talk tomorrow - but for tonight, Elio just needed Oliver. Just needed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the next chapter will be up soon... the boys are due some time to spend together... 😉


	57. Forward and back, and forward again

Elio took Oliver back to his lodging, which was a tiny room, with space for one single cot - not that either of them were paying attention or cared about it.

They kissed again as soon as the door closed behind them. It was gentle at first - Oliver initiated it, pushed into it slowly, cupped Elio’s jaw in one of his hands like he always did, to guide him into the kiss.

But as soon as Elio opened his mouth properly, as soon as the first moan was torn from his throat, soft, want became the force driving them.

Without breaking the kiss Oliver lifted him up, his hands under the boy’s backside, and Elio wrapped his thighs around Oliver’s waist and they kissed like that, deeply.

At the complete mercy of his husband, with his strong arms holding him, supporting him, with Elio only needing to hold onto Oliver’s neck to keep upright, Elio was back where he belonged. He felt safe, he felt loved, he felt possessed - he felt his.

After more long kisses, still holding Elio in his arms, still kissing him, Oliver walked towards the wall - leant Elio’s back against it, his hands under the boy’s rump anchoring him there.

“The bed is a little small,” he growled gently against Elio’s mouth, playful, his breath warm on Elio’s lips.

And Elio wanted to swoon, wanted Oliver to make love to him right there and then, holding him up and without a chance to escape, without his feet touching the ground once. He loved his husband being so strong, so big, his strength something that both frightened and aroused him, in a cocktail of emotions that made his head spin.

“Fuck me here,” Elio breathed, his eyes closed; swallowing hard when Oliver’s hips, still clothed, pushed against his. “Fuck me against the wall.” He felt his chest, his throat, his whole skin on fire.

Oliver kissed him again, taking his lips urgently.

“This mouth,” Oliver almost slurred when they parted, stroked his lips with a thumb, he loved to do that - and Elio looked into his eyes, drunk with desire. “The stuff you say.”

And Elio would have blushed, had he not been beyond delirious with want.

Oliver spoke again, his voice soft. 

“But I want to make love to you.”

When Elio opened his eyes again, and looked into his husband’s blue ones, he was watching him, so carefully, so attentively.

And Oliver kissed him again, and this time it was slow, deep, warm. Elio moaned, in the back of his throat, but now it was out of pleasure rather than to goad Oliver into action.

The way Oliver’s hips were pushing into his, back and forth, back and forth, slowly,was making his head spin, the contact building the orgasm inside his belly.

“If you -“ Elio tried to say, had to breathe. He was sure he probably sounded inebriated. “If you keep doing that, I will - I will come.”

His voice hitched on the word, and again he felt like he should blush, the way his cheeks were so warm. He opened his eyes to Oliver’s smile, and he knew that in another situation the older man would have teased him for being so shy about mentioning an orgasm.

Oliver kissed his mouth again, and then tightened his arms around him and carried him the few steps to reach Elio’s single bed.

He put him down there, on his back, and hovered over him, between his legs, kissing his lips again, his chin, his collarbone.

Oliver divested him of his clothes - bit by bit, caressing every inch of skin that was revealed and taking his time, and Elio arched his back, wanted him to hurry, so impatient.

Oliver’s fingers in him, then, were such a welcome feeling that Elio outright sobbed.

“Please. I want you inside me,” he tried, protested the slow burn of Oliver’s movements. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Oliver murmured, looking into his eyes. And then, when he pushed himself inside Elio, he nudged his mouth against the boy’s cheek, listened to his moans.

“This is where I belong,” Oliver said, braced Elio’s hips down with a hand, thrusting in again. “Here. Inside you.”

Elio sobbed again, reached out with his hands to draw Oliver down to him for another kiss.

“Yes. Yes,” he murmured against the older man’s mouth, savoured every thrust, every movement of their bodies together. Oliver was being careful, was kissing him everywhere he could reach. At one point he stopped, keeping himself inside him, reached down to touch Elio between their bellies. He stroked, slow, up and down, and Elio actually saw stars. 

“I love you,” Oliver whispered against Elio’s throat. And then: “Let go.”

And Elio’s body reacted as if with a will of its own. The pleasure in his belly was so intense it almost hurt, and it made Elio arch his back, cry out - squeeze his fingers into Oliver’s hair in a way that probably stung a little, but Elio couldn’t help it, was barely conscious enough to control his reactions.

And then afterwards, he lay, boneless and sweaty, as Oliver thrust a few more times, chasing his own pleasure, and it hurt so good Elio thought he would climax again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Now you’ll have to sleep in this little bed,” Elio murmured a little later, a smile on his face but his voice groggy, skin warm with post-sex exertion.

His curls were messy and tangled, and Oliver hid his face into them, holding him against his chest from behind as they lay together on the small mattress.

Oliver did not respond; but spoke a few moments later, his voice just a whisper.

“I’m sorry.”

Elio waited, but nothing else came after that; he could feel Oliver’s heart, beating against his own rib cage.

“I didn’t leave to punish you.”

“I know. But I am sorry. I was unfair on you, I was - I worry too much.”

Elio turned around in his arms, careful, until he lay on his side, facing his husband. He raised a hand, placed it on Oliver’s cheek, stroked it with his thumb.

“I don’t have to take this job. You’re the most important thing for me. If you don’t want me to, I won’t.”

It didn’t even hurt to say that. His heart, his body, was just full of Oliver. His breath, his smell. His kisses and touches. His presence. Elio had missed him so much, had looked at the prospect of living his life without him and had found that he couldn’t even breathe at the thought - let alone if it were happening for real. Marriage was compromise, marriage was sacrifice - and it was hardly a sacrifice for him if it meant that Oliver was happy, that they both were.

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” Oliver said softly, looking into his eyes. When Elio nodded, the older man kissed his palm; then reached out, kissed him on the lips again.

“Wait, where’s Rufus?” Oliver asked then, frowning.

Elio giggled.

“I left him with Kit. He looked after him while I was performing, and Kit loves dogs. I’m sure he’s happy to have him a little longer.”

He yawned, feeling the exhaustion starting to creep in. “Mmmh. Sleep,” he mumbled, burrowing into Oliver’s body with contentment, letting his husband’s arms circle him and hold him against his chest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When they arrived back home the day after, Rufus jumped off the wagon, barking and wagging his tail at Lady and Belle in greeting. Laughing, Elio followed him, going to hug both horses on the neck.

Something seemed different, though.He couldn’t pinpoint what, not yet; until he followed Rufus to the other side of the house.

“Oliver!”he squealed with delight. “You made a chicken coop!”

Oliver just stood, smiling, and Elio walked to the new addition to their little ranch, looked at it interestedly. Rufus ran to it, too, sniffed around, very interested too.

“This is perfect,” Elio smiled even wider.

“We can go to the market on Sunday, and buy a couple of chickens?” Oliver proposed, unhitching Arthur from the wagon.

“Can’t wait,” Elio looked up at him, the smile still radiant on his face.

About an hour later, as they were inside, having tea but really just standing by the kitchen table and kissing, someone knocked on their door.

It was the postman, and he had an envelope for Elio.

“Oh,” Elio breathed, as he opened it. There was a letter in it, and money. His wage from his job at the festival for the church.

“Oh. They - they paid me.”

Elio took the money out of the envelope, looked at the bank notes as if he didn’t think they were real. That was the first time he ever had a wage - the first time he worked in his life and got paid for it.

He looked at up at Oliver, smiling - he hadn’t thought he would feel as pleased and proud as he did.

Oliver walked over slowly, his arms crossed over his chest.

“It’s not a lot, but it’s something. Right?” Elio asked, still smiling. “I’m happy.”

And Oliver reached out with his hand, to push a curl behind the boy’s ear.

“You should take the job,” he said, softly. 

“What?” Elio looked up at him, eyes wide.

“Take the job. If you want. I think you should.”

He was smiling, and Elio smiled back at him, slowly and almost disbelievingly.

“Are - are you sure?”the boy babbled, but his eyes glittered.

Oliver nodded. “I’m sure.”

And Elio smiled again, wider. And then threw his arms around Oliver’s neck, hugged him tight.

“Maybe I can buy the chickens with this money,” he murmured as he squeezed himself against Oliver’s shoulder. “I’ll pick them myself, they will be the best chickens ever.”

And Oliver chuckled, and held Elio to himself, his own heart beating fast in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are reading, please, leave me a comment and let me know what you think of this chapter!  
> Make me happy :)


	58. Fort Smith, the Sheriff, the sign

“Are you sure you’re okay to come pick me up?” Elio asked Oliver, fixing the leg of his trousers which kept creasing over the top of his shoe. He’d just bought a new pair - serious, grown up shoes, that he was only going to use when he was asked to play by the Reverend and needed to look prim and proper. They weren’t that comfortable - he was honestly glad he didn’t have to ride into Fort Smith wearing them. 

“Of course.” Oliver looked at Elio. Scanned his whole body from toe to head, an appreciative look that Elio didn’t miss. 

The boy smiled, and walked over to his husband, kissed him on the lips. 

“Alright. Thanks.”

He was going to ride with the Reverend into town, for his afternoon show at the town hall in Fort Smith - it was now almost a monthly event; and then, Oliver would pick him up on their wagon, ride back home with him. 

Elio knew that was important to Oliver, that it made him feel safer - and he was happy about it, too. 

He’d already been to check on his new chickens that morning, but he couldn’t help it, he wanted to go and have another look, even though he was in his good clothes and good shoes. They’d bought three hens and one rooster, and they were already starting to get used to the bird announcing dawn every morning with its shrill call. 

“I wish we could buy more animals,” Elio sighed, though he had a smile on his face. And Oliver, who’d followed him, curious to see his well-dressed husband as he murmured to the hens and told them to ‘be good with Oliver’, kissed his temple, hugged Elio to his side. 

“Little by little, baby. We’ve just had to pay rent.”

“I know,” Elio shrugged. Then looked up at him, stood on tiptoes to nuzzle Oliver’s jaw, receiving a kiss on the mouth in response. “I’m proud of you.”

Oliver chuckled, tenderly. “Oh. What for?”

“Because you’ve left our old life behind and - and you’ve become an honourable man. Just like you said you would.”

Elio gave him another smile, slow, and he was sincere - and Oliver stroked his chin gently, the rosy swell of his lower lip.

The bell from the Reverend’s carriage, then, made them look towards the road, and they separated.

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” Elio said, reached out with a hand to squeeze his fist around the fabric of Oliver’s shirt on his chest. They couldn’t kiss, not with the risk of the reverend’s eyes on them, and so Elio smiled again, and then let Oliver go, walked gingerly towards the wagon waiting for him. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was only midday and Elio had already rehearsed for a couple of hours. He had another two hours of rehearsal ahead of him before the performance. He usually didn’t have time to leave the town hall, didn’t really want to, either. But now, having done this a few times since he accepted the job back in spring - and it was now summer - he knew when he could take a break, and he wanted to explore a little bit. 

Not far, of course. Oliver was fine with him having the job, performing and travelling periodically to Fort Smith, but he still worried about his safety, of course. And Fort Smith was a very big city; and Elio did not look like the rugged farmers of Aurora Rock, or the factory workers in Fort Smith, or the gun-welding cowboys from the prairie. Elio didn’t feel defenceless, but he knew that he looked it. And he knew that Oliver wouldn’t appreciate the thought of him wandering around, on his own, in a strange town. 

So Elio went for a walk in the main road, past the general store and the gunsmith and the barber. There was a Chinese restaurant just after it, Fort Smith had one of those - Elio had never seen one, not even back in East Falls. So he stopped, looked curiously at the menu on the door; but it was a different sign that, eventually, caught his eye. 

The building right next to the restaurant was the Sheriff’s, and there was a wanted sign affixed on the brick wall that had Elio staring at it, shocked. The sign read ‘Wanted: Dead or Alive’, which was something Elio had seen countless times before, of course. What was different, this time, was that the photo of the wanted man below the words was that of Albert. 

Albert. The boss of Oliver’s gang. The man who’d sold them to the Mudbrood, who treated them as bait, the father figure that had destroyed all the faith and respect that Oliver harboured in him. 

And now his face was on a wanted poster, his life offered up in exchange for a hefty bounty. 

Elio’s heart beat faster as he decided to walk into the sheriff’s office, to ask for more information. 

The Sheriff, a burly older man with a red face, was sitting at his desk, smoking a cigar, and looked at Elio curiously as the boy approached him. 

Elio had never been into a sheriff’s office before; had never seen it from the inside, never had such a close peek at the jail doors that were clearly visible at the back of the room. 

Heart beating fast still, he made himself walk up to the sheriff’s desk. The man stared at him, but didn’t speak - and Elio made himself do it instead. 

“I - I saw that bounty sign just outside. I wanted to ask for more information.”

“Aren’t you a little young to be going bounty-hunting, kid?” the Sheriff said, pulling the cigar out of his mouth with a stocky hand, and blowing a billow of smoke out of his mouth. 

“It’s - it’s not for me,” Elio replied. “It’s for someone I know.”

“Right. You wanna know about Albert Rogers? You’re too late, kid. He was killed in Santa Maria a week ago.”

Elio’s heart skipped a beat. “I - I don’t know where that is,” he babbled. 

“Some fifty miles south of here.” The Sheriff put his cigar out in the ashtray on his desk. The whole office smelled of burnt ash. “He was a dangerous fellow, but don’t worry, we’ve got him. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

Elio felt lightheaded. He nodded; and then walked out into the street. Breathed the fresh air, away from the Sheriff, his cigar and ashtray. 

His heart still beat fast, and he looked at the wall, at the sign with Albert’s face on it, staring out with blank eyes. He was dead. Albert was dead. 

Elio thought of Susan. Thought of the whole gang. He hoped they were okay, he wished he could find out where they were; he wished he could make sure they were safe. He thought of Oliver. 

He would be devastated. Yes, Albert had betrayed them; but was that enough to destroy years of growing up with him, being raised by him, being taught everything he knew?

Elio set his jaw. As he started walking back to the town hall, he thought - he needed to tell Oliver. He needed to.

But he wished he didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think... love ya x


	59. The Promise

That night, when Elio left the town hall, Oliver’s wagon was already there, waiting for him. 

Oliver was smiling as he waited by Arthur, and when Elio walked over to him, the older man took him by the hand, led him to the back of the carriage. A bunch of flowers sat there, blues and pinks and yellows, Elio wasn’t sure exactly what variety they were but of course, the sight of them made him beam from ear to ear. 

“Oh, Oliver,” he looked up through his eyelashes at his husband, blushing. “What are these for?”

“Did you know there’s a florist, really close to here?” Oliver smiled too. He held a hand on Elio’s waist. “I saw these and thought they’re as beautiful as you. So I had to get them.”

Still beaming, Elio looked at him for one more moment. “I wish you could kiss me right now.”

Oliver’s thumb stroked his side, slowly. 

“I wish that too.” 

Elio looked down, then back up at him. He was still blushing. 

“Do you want to go for a walk around here?” Oliver asked, looking around himself, at the street ahead that was still busy with townsfolks. But Elio shook his head, quickly. 

“No. Let’s go home?”

He didn’t add anything more, and Oliver didn’t ask. Just smiled again, and walked back to the front of the wagon, Elio following, mounting on the other side to ride shotgun. 

He didn’t want Oliver to see Albert’s face on the wanted signs. Not before he had told him what he’d discovered about him. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once they returned home Oliver didn’t leave him much of a chance to talk, however. 

He kissed him right after they walked inside, started undressing him before they even reached the couch. 

Elio laughed in his mouth, lifted his head to make more space for Oliver’s kisses on his neck, the ones with just a hint of teeth, Elio’s favourite. He let Oliver take his clothes off and then walked to the sofa, ready to kneel on it, but his husband grabbed him by his hips and turned him around gently. 

“I want to see you,” Oliver growled softly, kissing him again. And Elio was already naked, his new shoes thrown carelessly to the side together with his suit, his shirt. Two pairs of hands tangling, they unlatched Oliver’s trousers together - and then Oliver picked him up, made Elio wrap his thighs around his waist, held him and kissed him for a few, long minutes, naked skin on naked skin. Elio let him do it; whatever Oliver wanted to do, however he wanted to do it, Elio was fine with. 

In the end Oliver placed him back down on the couch and lied on top of him, between his legs. Still kissing him like a starving man, almost rough enough that it hurt - and Elio moaned in this mouth. 

Oliver stopped kissing him when he pushed inside him. He pulled up on his arms - and Elio knew he wanted to watch. And so he lay back, arched his neck, closed his eyes and moaned again, fully intent on giving his husband the show that he was looking for. 

“So goddamn stunning,” he heard him growl, barely even felt Oliver’s hand gripping his skinny hip to brace him better against his thrusts. Elio pulled his arms back and over his head, let himself go - put himself at Oliver’s mercy completely. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It didn’t take long for either of them to come that way, and it was so intense that they both lay on the sofa afterwards, sweaty and in each other’s arms, letting their eyes close, and sleep come to them. 

Elio only woke a couple of hours later, when Oliver was still sleeping. 

Carefully, he untangled himself from the older man’s arms; grabbed his old shirt and trousers that he wore in the house and that he’d thrown carelessly on a chair earlier, and walked to the kitchen, to warm up some canned vegetables and some bread for dinner. 

The memory of Albert, of what he was supposed to do had come back to him as soon as he’d opened his eyes after his nap. He still didn’t know how to do it; when to tell Oliver. 

He frowned, watching the flames on the stove flare up a couple of times, then settle under the pot. 

He didn’t know how Oliver was going to react. Not well, though, he was sure. 

Focussed on his thoughts, frowning, he didn’t even hear Oliver get up or walk to him, and jumped when the older man wrapped his arms around him from behind. 

“Hey, shh,” Oliver purred quietly. “It’s just me.”

He held him, and Elio allowed himself to relax back into his arms. Until he felt Oliver’s lips on his nape, on the side of his neck. Warm. 

“Mmm. You smell of me,” Oliver murmured, his voice even more like a purr as he continued to kiss Elio’s skin, on his neck, on his shoulder were his shirt, old, slouched a little. 

“Oliver...I’m making us some dinner. It’ll burn,” Elio protested, with little conviction. He let Oliver pull him back flush against himself, press his hand on Elio’s tummy. He could feel him, and he was hard, again. 

Elio turned back towards his husband, looked up at him. “Later?” he said, in a whisper. 

And Oliver narrowed his eyes, rolled them, but it was playful. “Fine. Later.” He pecked Elio’s lips, and let him go, walked to the table to pour water into their glasses.

Elio sighed. 

Oliver seemed in such a good mood. 

But he couldn’t keep the secret, and risk Oliver finding out by accident by seeing the signs in town, he didn’t want him to go to the Sheriff, risk attracting attention to himself - he had been part of Albert’s gang, after all... 

“You seem a little preoccupied.” 

Oliver’s voice was calm, when he asked. He seemed genuinely curious. 

Of course he’d been able to pick up on Elio’s mood. 

And Elio schooled his expression, tried to not let his worry transpire. He made a plate of vegetables and meat for Oliver, one for himself - brought them to the table. 

“No, I’m okay. Just tired, I guess.”

Oliver just nodded; and as they ate, he talked quietly, about other things. About Belle, and how she was growing up so quickly. About the market in Fort Smith, with the florist and the tailor. 

“Do you know,” he said then, looking at Elio. “I think we should go to the photographer in Fort Smith. Have our photograph taken again.” ‘So we don’t have to use the one Vincent took’, was what he implied - but Elio could only agree. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. 

Oliver smiled briefly. And then covered Elio’s hand with his on the table, stroked it with his thumb. 

“Now... do you want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

His voice was gentle; quiet. As if he could sense Elio’s news wasn’t going to be anything cheerful. 

And Elio sighed - he just needed to tell him. 

“Oliver, I -“ he started, took another breath. “Today, in my break, I went for a walk just around by the Town Hall. And I - I walked past the Sheriff. And I saw this wanted sign.” 

Oliver was still looking at him, interestedly; and Elio swallowed. 

“The bounty was for - it was for Albert.” Elio made himself speak. “I - I went to the Sheriff, to ask, and he - he told me that they - got him. Albert. Last week.”

He stopped, feeling his heart beat like a drum in his chest. 

Oliver was still looking at him; his eyes wide, but a frown between his eyebrows. His jaw now set. 

Elio watched him look down, swallow.

“Is he dead?”

His voice was cold, monotone. Clinical.  But Elio was not foolish enough to think that that reflected the way Oliver actually felt. That was just his armour. 

He answered quietly. “Yes. He died a week ago.”

And Oliver nodded. Stayed quiet. 

“I’m sorry, Oliver.” Tentatively, Elio reached out, covered Oliver’s hand with his this time. “I’m really sorry.”

Oliver was quiet for a few more long moments. And Elio, frowning, could only keep his eyes on him; look at his profile, at the way that his jaw clenched.

Until Oliver spoke. 

“He knew what was coming to him.” He sighed. “He’s always known.” He stood, ran his hand through his hair.

“Do you-“ Elio started, his voice nothing but a murmur. “Do you think Susan is okay? And Sadie - and the others?”

Oliver looked at him. 

“We - had an agreement. Should the boss of the gang die, get killed, should we not all be in the same place when that happened - we decided we would meet. To make sure the gang survived. We picked a place for it. A secret place.”

Oliver had spoken, so calmly; his voice in such a contrast with the frown on his face, the shadows that clouded his blue eyes. And Elio could only nod, even though he was confused, he was so confused. 

“I think.... I think I need to go, make sure they’re okay.”

Elio heard Oliver’s voice before he even realised he’d spoken. Elio’s heart didn’t seem to want to slow down. 

“You need to go-“

“To make sure they’re okay. If this - if he only died last week then they might still be there.”

Elio wanted to protest. What if you’re wrong? What if they didn’t honour the promise? What if they’ve all fled, what if they - what if they weren’t alive, anymore. 

And then - all the protests died on Elio’s lips. 

They couldn’t be dead. Sadie couldn’t be dead. They needed to be alive - Oliver needed to bring them back. 

Despite himself, Elio nodded, with his heart in his throat. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was no time to waste, and so Oliver filled a satchel with the necessary to sustain him for a couple of days of travel, got Arthur ready. Elio helped gather everything he needed, watched him. 

The boy’s eyes were bright when Oliver finished loading everything onto Arthur, walked back to him. 

“Remember to use the lock on the door and on the windows,” Oliver said. “Stay in the house while I’m away. The pantry’s full - you shouldn’t want for anything.”

Elio swallowed, looked up at his husband. 

He would have wanted to go with him; but somehow, he knew that this was something Oliver needed to do on his own. For the gang. 

Besides - Elio had a ranch to look after, now. 

“How - how many days are you going to be away for?” he asked, trying to fight the way his voice trembled. Sat on the floor, next to him, Rufus whined quietly. 

“Not long. A couple of days, maybe.” Oliver stroked a curl away from Elio’s forehead. “Tell me you remember everything I said. Promise you will stay here, and you will be careful.”

Elio nodded. Looked into Oliver’s eyes. 

“Promise you will come back to me.” 

His voice trembled, and he squeezed his hands into fists, to stop them shaking. 

He looked at Oliver and frowned, bit his lower lip hard enough to hurt. 

And Oliver looked at him for a moment - then stepped forward, took him into his arms. 

“I will come back to you,” he said, his voice warm, muffled against the side of Elio’s throat. “I love you.”

And Elio squeezed himself against him. Pushed up on tiptoes; hid his face into Oliver’s neck, breathing in his scent, enough of it to last him during his absence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... are you getting bored of this story?? 
> 
> Leave me a comment if not! X


	60. When you hope against hope

Oliver and Arthur rode for most of the night. 

Oliver knew the way by heart. He’d only been there once, to the place they’d decided they would meet at, in the event of their leader passing away. 

It was a cottage a little further north, not too far from Aurora Rock, luckily. It was hidden, deep in a thick patch of woods. It was abandoned, hard to find unless whoever was looking for it knew its location already. 

Oliver hoped against hope that, once he’d ridden through the woods, alongside the path that only he saw, he would be able to make out the faint light of candles within the cottage as the tell-tale sign that someone was there; and he hoped that that someone would be the friendly faces of his old gang members. 

And, perhaps for once, the God he didn’t believe in, fate, made it so that he did see that light through the windows. It was faint and tremulous, two candles at best. But it was this detail that made him more prone to continue hoping. It was part of their agreement, the light of the candles. A message of sorts. 

Nonetheless, he approached the cottage carefully. He tried not to make noise as he dismounted, hitched Arthur outside, walked towards the door. 

It was quiet from the inside, and Oliver kept a hand on the gun on his belt - but there was something that told him it was going to be fine. He was going to see people he did indeed want to see. 

When he knocked lightly on the door, a female voice called back.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s Oliver. I’ve come to get paid.”

It was the code phrase they agreed on, because you could never be too careful. But the door swung open a moment after Oliver spoke, and Sadie appeared on the other side, all geared up with a gun in her hand, her eyes tired like someone who’d been keeping guard - but her smile huge, and radiant on her face. 

“Oh Oliver! You devil, I can’t believe you’re here!”

Her arms went around Oliver’s neck, and she laughed, and Oliver laughed with her, hugged her back. 

“You don’t seem to remember a pact we made, Missy?”

Sadie pulled back, and nodded, her smile faded a little - the mention of the pact reminding them both of the circumstance that had made it necessary to honour it. 

“Susan is here,too,” Sadie murmured to him, as if she could read his mind. 

Oliver nodded; stepped inside. 

He looked around in the tiny, two-room shelter - Susan stood by the entrance to the bedroom, eyes red, hair in disarray. 

“Mister Oliver.” She was holding her arms around herself, but smiled, albeit faintly. “Mister Oliver, what are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, of course.” Oliver couldn’t bring himself to repeat the reason why they were meeting. 

Susan frowned, took a few steps towards him. 

“Where’s the little one?”

“He’s home. He’s okay,” Oliver tried to reassure. 

“Home, huh?” Susan was still looking at him suspiciously, as if she didn’t know whether to believe him. 

“Yes. We have a home now, we live in Aurora Rock. I have a job. Elio - Elio’s grown up so much.”

Next to them, Sadie smiled. Walked over to Susan, wrapped her arm around her, rubbing her shoulder lightly with her fingers. 

“He’s working. He has a job! Can you believe it, Sus? Elio’s made an honest man of our Mister Oliver.”

Susan’s eyes widened, for just a split second. And then she walked closer to Oliver, smacked his arm with her hand - quick, not hard enough to hurt. 

“Mister Oliver, you shouldn’t have left that child all alone. There’s so many brutes around.”

Her tone was gruff - but her eyes were tender even though she was looking up at him with a frown, trying to look severe. 

“He’s safe. I wouldn’t have left him if he wasn’t,” Oliver nodded at her, keeping a smile on his face, too. Susan’s eyes were still red; he knew she’d rather talk about Elio, she’d rather rebuff Oliver, than think about what had happened to her husband like he was sure she’d been doing all those past days. 

Susan was still looking at him, and so Oliver decided to ask his next question - trying to direct her motherly scrutiny onto a different subject. 

“Where are the others?”

“Tilly’s here”, Sadie said, and lowered her voice a little, as if she’d just remembered. “She’s sleeping.”

Oliver started to nod; Susan interjected then. 

“She’s pregnant. Eight months along.”

Oliver could feel that his eyes had widened, and that his eyebrows had shot to nearly his hairline. He didn’t know of Tilly having a partner, or wanting a child, for that matter. 

“These things just happen, Mister Oliver.” Susan could still read his mind, too. “Black and Irish baby. It’ll be one of a kind for sure.”

“Kieran?” Oliver could only say that. He was surprised; but not in a bad way. Kieran had always had a soft spot for their Miss Tilly. If they were happy, that was all that mattered. 

“Yes. He’s with Alcyd and Jack, now. Recovering the stash.” Sadie offered. “They’ll need it, with the baby.”

Every member of the gang had cash that they kept hidden somewhere. Some on themselves, some - more prepared, less spontaneous, like Kieran - hid it somewhere secret, adding to it every now and then, for rainy days. 

Oliver nodded. Tilly’s pregnancy was a piece of very big news - but at least it was good news. 

He was just happy that they were all still safe and alive. 

Well, not all, but most of them. 

“You must have travelled for so long, Oliver. Do you want any food?” Sadie changed the subject then, taking charge of the situation as she usually did. “We brought some provisions on the wagon when he got here. There’s some tinned meat, or beans-“

“I’m fine, actually,” Oliver smiled. “But - I came here for a reason. To ask you to come back with me. To Aurora Rock.”

He looked at the both of them, and Susan was blinking, frowning, Sadie’s large brown eyes also fixed on him interestedly. 

“It’s a quiet town. It’s safe. We can find you somewhere to live. And - you can’t stay here. Especially not with Miss Tilly in her condition. You’ll run out of provisions really soon.”

“We were thinking of moving somewhere, of course,” Sadie said then. “Just us, and Kieran. But we hadn’t thought of Aurora Rock.”

“You can come and stay with Elio and me for a few days, until Kieran returns. Our house is small, but we can make do - and then find you somewhere else.”

Oliver really hoped they would accept. It was the best solution, really - and Elio would be so happy to see them, to see that they were okay. 

Susan sighed. Looked towards Sadie. 

Oliver knew what moving to Aurora Rock meant to her: it meant accepting that her days in the gang were over. And they were over, because her husband was no longer around. 

It was like she didn’t want to make any decision - and Sadie looked her in the eye, too, squeezed her arm a little in reassurance. 

“I think it would be a good idea. We have nothing to lose.” She turned back around to Oliver, smiled tightly. “I think - I think a break from the wandering would be good for us, too.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver helped them gather the few items they had around there, the food that they had left. He helped them load them onto their wagon, waiting behind the cabin, hidden as best as possible. 

They waited until the morning, because there was no point in travelling in the dead of the night - and it gave them all a chance to rest before the trip.

They helped Tilly board the wagon, Susan sat next to her, holding her close, watching over her. Oliver and Sadie travelled on the front - Sadie’s horse pulling the carriage, Arthur tied behind. 

“How is she doing?” Oliver asked, as they drove. Quietly, to make sure Susan wouldn’t hear. 

Sadie bit the side of her lip. 

“She’s as tough as a rock. You know it. But she’s taken it pretty bad. Especially because - “ she looked down. “Because he was captured. He died a prisoner. He wouldn’t have wanted to go that way.”

Oliver nodded, gave a pull to the reins to direct the horse along a turn. 

“He was a piece of shit, a lot of the time. Let’s face it,” Sadie continued, looking around herself. Her face was hard. She was sure of what she had just said. “But - most of the gang spent so much time with him. Most of them thought - they thought they owed him their life.” She sighed. “And they probably did.”

Oliver nodded again. Sighed, woefully. 

“I think I owed him my life, too.” 

“But that doesn’t mean that we can’t admit to the reality of things. He was an asshole. Susan knows - you can love an asshole.” Sadie chuckled, briefly. “But this is a change that is definitely going to be good. For all of us.”

Oliver smiled tightly at her. Looked again in front of him. The morning was fully there; it was going to be midday soon. The sky, lilac turning into blue, seemed like a good sign, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rufus’s barking was as welcome a sound as ever, and Oliver smiled as he unlocked the door. 

“You’re back!” Elio smiled - Rufus running to the older man, wagging his tail. The boywalked over to Oliver, and Oliver kissed histemple. 

“And I have some guests.” Oliver stepped aside; watched, as Elio’s eyes went as wide as saucers, the boy’s expression going from disbelieving, to elated in one millisecond. 

“Sadie!”

Much like Rufus had done with Oliver, Elio ran to Sadie as she stood by the entrance, threw his arms around her. 

“And Susan! Tilly!” Elio exclaimed as he spotted the women. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re all safe!”

“My doll,” Susan smiled, cupping Elio’s face with her hand. “You look so well, bless you, my gorgeous boy.”

Elio was so excited to see them, that it took him a few moments to notice Tilly.

“Tilly, you...”

“Yes, I’m as big as an air balloon, little Elio.” She smiled, but grimaced a little as she wobbled slowly towards them, a hand on her belly. Sadie walked to her, took her arm to help. “God knows I’m so ready for this baby to get out.”

Elio was blinking in surprise - turned towards Oliver, held his eyes, and Oliver smiled, to reassure him. 

“I - I’m making supper. I- I’ll make food for all of us. Come in, sit down, do you want any tea? A drink, anything?” Elio said, walked back in as the others followed. He busied himself in the kitchen, taking cups out of the cupboard. There was a pot steaming on the wood stove. Oliver smiled, as he helped Tilly and Susan get settled on the couch. 

“Oh, precious God. Elio, you’re a blessing,” Tilly smiled, held her hands on her swollen belly. “I would love some water.”

“You could do with some hard liquor just now, I’m sure,” Susan said, rolling her eyes. “At least that’s how I felt when I was eight months pregnant, myself.”

They all chuckled. And for a moment, it was as if no time had passed. The circumstances that reunited them were different from before, for sure; they were all different people now. But, together, it still felt like it did, back when the gang was happy. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Susan praised the dinner Elio had made - beans, eggs, tomato broth and bread. And, seeing Elio’s smile, wide, Oliver knew the boy was really proud of himself. 

As the women sat on the couch later, reading, quietly chatting, Oliver cornered Elio by the stairs. 

He stroked the boy’s side; leaned in, to kiss his mouth. 

“I’m so happy,” Elio murmured against him, looking up at him from under his eyelashes. “Thanks for bringing them here.”

Oliver gave his lips another kiss. 

“I’m happy too. It makes me feel better to think that they won’t be that far from us.”

Elio nodded. “How long will they stay with us?”

“We left a message for Kieran,” Oliver said. Stroked a curl behind Elio’s ear. “As soon as he gets here, they’ll need to find someplace else. Tilly’s going to give birth soon.”

Elio nodded. His eyes were huge, green. Innocent. He turned slightly, kissed Oliver’s palm. 

Oliver’s heart swelled. 

“I love you,” he whispered, on Elio’s lips. 

“I love you too,” Elio whispered back. 

The kiss that followed started slow; but soon, when Elio sighed into Oliver’s mouth, the older man leant against him, pushing him back against the wall, caging him with his arms. Elio pushed up on tiptoes - wrapped his arms around Oliver’s neck, pushed his pelvis against his husband’s. Moaned softly against his mouth again, and Oliver bit his lower lip gently. 

“Be careful, little Elio! Or you’ll end up like me!” 

From the other room, Tilly’s voice came, gently teasing, cheerful. They could hear Sadie and Susan chuckling, too. 

Without breaking the kiss, Elio giggled quietly in Oliver’s mouth. 

He looked up at his husband, a smile stretching his lips, his eyes gleaming with mischievousness. 

“Come on, Mister Oliver. Put a baby inside me,” he growled, very softly, smiling still on Oliver’s mouth.

The growl from Oliver came straight from his throat, and the older man lifted him up, making him wrap his legs around his hips, held him against the wall, as he ravished him with kisses, fully intent on bringing him upstairs, right now, to have some time alone with the boy he fell more and more in love with every day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for the delay! Real life has been SO busy. Thank you so much for your patience.   
> I hope you like this chapter - please leave me a comment and make me happy :) x


	61. Chances

“This reminds me of when we first met. When we camped out in your room, in that building that was falling to pieces.”

Oliver smiled against Elio’s nape. Pulled him back tighter against his chest, as they lay on blankets on the floor, Oliver embracing the boy from behind. 

They’d given their bed to Tilly and Susan for the night - Tilly could not be expected to sleep on the floor, and Susan would not let her out of her sight. Sadie slept in the room with them - and so nobody was downstairs, to listen to their whispering to each other. 

“I don’t like wearing clothes. When I’m sleeping next to you,” Elio grumbled. Gestured as if he wanted to pull his shirt off of himself, playfully petulant. 

“We certainly can’t risk the ladies coming down and seeing us like the day we were born.” Oliver chuckled again. “It’s just not really gentlemanly.”

He had his eyes closed, but he could feel Elio’s body tensing up. 

He knew what the boy was thinking. And when he got something in his mind, it was practically impossible to make him desist. 

Oliver kept his eyes closed still, his lips pressed to Elio’s nape, against his soft, sweet-scented curls, but his hand sneaked up and under Elio’s shirt on the boy’s chest. His fingers found the nipple he was after; he stroked it slowly, with the pad of his thumb. 

He felt Elio’s body tense even more against him. 

“Ah, Oliver.” Elio’s voice trembled. “I tell you that I want to be naked with you, you say we can’t and then you do this?”

Oliver kissed the side of Elio’s neck, smiling mischievously. 

“Can you stay quiet?” he asked, moving to hover over him, looking into this eyes. 

He waited for Elio’s nod, and then he shuffled lower, peppering kissed down his young husband’s smooth chest, his stomach, the well of his hips. 

He made sure the blanket covered him as he hid between Elio’s legs and pushed his trousers down; took him into his mouth. 

He heard a quiet moan, as if Elio was holding himself back, to honour his promise to not make a sound. Oliver held his hips down when they started to buck up; Elio was already so aroused, he knew it wouldn’t take long. 

And like any seventeen year old boy would, with the object of their lust between their legs, sucking and licking them, the sensation heightened by the secrecy, Elio came a few moments later, his spine arching, his breathing erratic. 

Oliver swallowed some of it. Then crawled back up, to hover over Elio again, leant down to kiss him. He smiled, when Elio tasted himself in what Oliver passed to him, mouth to mouth, jolted a little in surprise. 

“Swallow,” Oliver purred, low. Watching him tenderly, stroking a finger down his cheek. “You’re beautiful,” he praised when Elio obeyed, holding his gaze all the while. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning, Oliver sat with Susan on the couch, a mug of coffee in their hands. Elio and Sadie, outside in Elio’s vegetable garden, talked - Elio’s voice could be heard, faintly, as he cheerfully told the girl about the tomatoes, peas, radish and carrots he had planted. 

“Elio is growing into such a beautiful young man. I knew, Mister Oliver - I knew the moment I saw that boy. Just wish any of my sons were like him.” Susan rolled her eyes. 

Oliver looked down, a soft smile on his lips. 

“Yeah. He makes me happy.”

“And that’s good,” Susan patted his knee. “He’s so young but he’s already such a good partner for you. Don’t you ever take him for granted, my boy.”

Susan’s voice was kind of wistful, and Oliver looked up, frowning a little. Thinking of how to ask her. 

In the end, he decided to just be direct. 

“How are you feeling, Susan?” 

“Oh, you know. A little here and there. Tilly’s about to pop, ya know, and you know I didn’t mind the gang life, but now we have to find somewhere to live. Like real people. Can you believe it, Mister Oliver?”

Oliver looked down again, chuckled a little. Looked back up at her. 

“You know what I meant.”

The woman’s dark green eyes fixed on him. Her mouth was pursed; she took a moment before responding. 

“He was just a big thing in your life as he was in mine.”

“But you were his wife,” Oliver interjected, as gently as he could. “I - it was a shock, for me. Of course. But - lately, he hadn’t really been the same person. To me.”

“I know what he did. To you and Elio.” Susan’s voice was firm; she could be so emotionless when she wanted to. “I didn’t speak to him for, I don’t know, days, after that. The whole gang, the little one. You’re all my children. He shouldn’t have dared.”

There was no sorrow in her tone. She didn’t regret not speaking to her husband, even given what had happened, that he’d died, not long after. Oliver reached out a hand, held Susan’s, squeezed it, with affection. 

“To answer your question, Mister Oliver - so you don’t keep looking at me with those worried puppy dog eyes of yours. I’m doing just fine. I’ve still got my family, don’t I?”

And Oliver could only nod, agree. He knew he could believe her. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio had been called to the church that afternoon, to rehearse a piece he’d been asked to play in a couple of weeks in Fort Smith. 

Oliver had proposed they all went to listen to him - holding an arm around the boy, looking at him with shining eyes. And, though Elio had gone scarlet in the cheeks, Oliver knew he was happy for Sadie, Susan and Tilly to see him play. 

And anyway, Oliver was proud of him. If he wanted to show off his husband’s talent, then he would, indeed. 

Next to them, Sadie didn’t hide a pleased smile. 

At the end of Elio’s small performance - with them only and the minister as the audience - Tilly had tears in her eyes. 

“Oh, Oliver,” she wiped her cheek with a handkerchief. “That was so beautiful.”

And Oliver looked at her. His heart swelling with pride.

“You have to allow him to continue playing,” Tilly spoke again. “Please. He’s a gift. I’ve always wanted to play the piano. Who knows, perhaps,” and she hiccuped, dabbed at her other cheek with the piece of cloth. “Perhaps my baby will have the chances that I didn’t have.”

Her tone was so dreamy, and Oliver smiled at her, looked back up at Elio, now talking to the Reverend, nodding at something, smiling at something else, his face flushed. 

“Your baby will be lucky, my dear Miss Tilly,” Oliver looked back at her, smiled. 

And Tilly smiled too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little chapter to move the story along and to also say, Happy Easter, if you celebrate! Or Happy Sunday if not :) 
> 
> Please leave me a comment & make me happy xx


	62. Far, but still close

The house Susan and the girls managed to find, once Kieran finally arrived, was a little further outside Aurora Rock - perhaps half an hour riding south. They needed a bigger accommodation, of course, with Tilly’s baby and all. The new house was perfect, something they could afford also, especially once Susan and Sadie started working, too. But it was, indeed, not as close as Elio would have wanted. 

He watched them quietly, as they got themselves ready to leave, as Kieran and Oliver helped load all their effects onto the wagon. He hugged Sadie, tight, hiding his face into her shoulder. He looked up at Susan with wide eyes, once she released him from her own embrace. 

“I wish I could come and visit you every day,” he said, a little sadly. 

Susan smiled. Cupped his cheek with her palm. 

“I know, sweetheart. But you have Oliver to take care of. You’re doing such a good job. You need to look after him and your house. We will be okay.”

It hurt Elio’s heart a little bit. 

This life was made of so many separations. And yet, he reprimanded himself for his thoughts - this wasn’t a separation, really. They were going to see them often, as often as they could. They just wouldn’t be living together. 

But Susan was right. Oliver was his life, and Elio had tasks, responsibilities. He needed to be strong, and brave - just like Susan, Sadie and Tilly were. 

He nodded, looked down for a moment in acquiescence. 

“Good boy.” With one last touch to Elio’s cheek, Susan let him go, walked back to Tilly, to help her board the wagon.

They’d been to the photographer in Fort Smith, all of them. As they’d planned, Elio and Oliver posed for a new photograph; and then, they all posed together, Elio and Oliver, Susan, Sadie, Tilly and Kieran. It was a nice way to remember their group - one day, they would all be old, their hair white, their bones brittle, but their memories still clear and cherished. 

After they watched the wagon leave, Sadie driving, Tilly waving from the back, Elio and Oliver walked back into the house - and Oliver hung the photographs. The group one, on the wall of their sitting room; and their own, the one were they stood together, Elio looking up at Oliver, gazing into each other’s eyes, he hung in their bedroom. 

That night, as he lay in bed in Oliver’s arms, Elio’s eyes fell on the picture; his heart warm, at the feeling of that house, that life, becoming more and more theirs. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I know you don’t want me to cut my hair,” Elio mumbled, looking at himself in the mirror, one morning a few days later. He’d just washed himself, and his ebony hair curled up in wet ringlets, down on his neck, thick and soft. “But it’s really getting long.” 

He pushed strands of it behind his ear, twisting his mouth, and frowning at his reflection. 

“I don’t want you to cut your hair,” Oliver confirmed, a playful smile on his face, and walked over, nudged Elio’s face towards him with a finger, kissed his red lips. 

“I look like a circus act,” Elio frowned up at him this time.

Oliver smiled even more. 

“You look beautiful.” He stroked his lower lip with a thumb, his cheekbone with his index finger. “This red mouth. Your white skin, your dark hair. I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as you.”

“I look like a girl,” Elio pouted, frowned more. 

Oliver’s eyes flashed. “Mmmh.” He leant down, kissed Elio’s lips again that were offered up to him, full and swollen, as the boy pouted in mock offence. Elio was definitely starting to be more aware of Oliver’s desire - and of his own power, when it came to controlling it. 

“Please, let me cut my hair.” Looking up into Oliver’s eyes, from beneath his eyelashes, Elio begged - his voice low, a whisper. 

Yes, he knew Oliver, he was aware of his husband’s desire for him - he knew how to rile him up; but this didn’t mean he didn’t feel a frisson of adrenaline, a pleasurable little shiver of fear, when Oliver gave into his instincts, manhandled him, took his body into his hands. 

And he did so right now. 

“I think you should start seeing yourself the way I see you.” 

His voice a growl, Oliver seized Elio’s hips with his hands, turned him back towards the mirror - positioned him in front of himself. He pushed his groin forward, against the boy’s clothed backside. And his hands slid up on Elio’s chest, up to his pecs, slow, making Elio close his eyes in bliss. 

The hands descended again to unlatch Elio’s trousers, and Elio helped, and then Oliver’s hands disappeared behind him to do the same to himself.

“Keep your eyes on the reflection,” Oliver growled quietly against the side of Elio’s neck, kissed it at the end of his words. 

Elio obeyed. Looked at them, in the mirror. Looked at Oliver’s eyes looking at him in it, as the older man positioned himself, and then held Elio’s hipbones steady as he pushed forward, inside the boy’s body. 

“Fuck,” Elio swore gently, raised his arms and took hold of Oliver’s biceps behind him. It hurt deliciously, and he grit his teeth, frowned at his reflection and Oliver’s, wanting to growl like a wolf cub. 

“Do you see how beautiful you are,” Oliver asked, a rough whisper against Elio’s ear. He snapped his hips forward, and Elio moaned, held his breath. 

“You’re so big”. It was true, Oliver was; but Elio was saying it to provoke him. This is how they’d both tacitly decided that afternoon fuck would go, after all. 

Oliver’s large hand slid over Elio’s abdomen, held down, and Oliver gave another snap of his hips - Elio moaned, louder, feeling Oliver as if he were right through his body, from the base of his spine to his belly button. As if Elio’s body was hollow, made only to accommodate Oliver inside. 

“Please,” Elio moaned again. On Oliver’s lips, his face turned to the side, his eyes closed. He loved to beg Oliver, and Oliver loved to be begged. 

“Look at yourself in the mirror.” Oliver’s voice, a steady growl. “I want you to watch yourself come.”

He waited, until Elio turned back to look at their reflection, and then he started fucking him in earnest, holding him steady and powerless to move or to stop him. And Elio loved it, fuck, he loved it. He came so hard that his legs wobbled. Oliver had to toss him on the bed, hold his thighs open, kiss him and fuck him from above before he could come, too - and Elio, so blissed our, satisfied, let him, already thinking of the next time, and how he could provoke his husband that way again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then one afternoon, when Elio sat outside, playing with Rufus, taking a break from gardening, Sadie appeared. 

She dismounted her horse and walked towards him from the street. Elio’s eyes glittered, his smile wide on his face. 

“Sadie!” He greeted, over Rufus’s excited barking. 

Sadie was smiling too. 

“I came to tell you that - Tilly’s had her baby.”

“Oh my god!” Elio clapped his hands together. “When? And how is she? And the baby?”

Sadie smiled again. 

“Last night. It was long and, kind of difficult but - they’re both okay. They’re resting now. I came to ask if you want to come see them.”

“Yes!” Elio started, his eyes widening excitedly. But then he bit his lower lip. “Actually. I’ll wait for Oliver. If you don’t mind. I said I’d be here, so - we’ll come together tonight, if he agrees.”

Sadie looked at him; nodded. She reached out, stroked a curl around Elio’s ear. 

“Alright. We will see you tonight, then.”

And Elio hugged her briefly, watched as she left. His heart beating fast, and looking forward to going to visit his friends with Oliver. 


	63. A cause for celebration

Rosie was tiny. Delicate, breakable. Laying on Tilly’s chest, the newborn snuffled quietly, her eyes closed, her pouty mouth already stretching in the same expression her mother often had. Her skin was the perfect mix between Kieran’s paleness and Tilly’s darker tone. 

“Do you want to hold her?” 

Tilly looked up at Elio, a soft smile on her face. 

“I - can I? But, she’s sleeping...”

Tilly smiled wider, held a hand on the baby’s back to keep her on her chest while she pulled herself up, with difficulty, with the other arm to sit upright on the bed. 

“It’s okay. I need to wake her up to nurse in a minute, anyway.” She nodded gently to him. “Come closer.”

Elio did as he was told. And Tilly stretched her arms, slowly, carefully, grimacing lightly. 

“Hold your arms like this. Like a little crib. There.”

She placed Rosie in the boy’s arms, and Elio stiffened. 

“Don’t be afraid. She’s okay. See?”

The baby snuffled some more, her little face scrunching up, and Elio was suddenly afraid she would start crying; but she only breathed, yawned, held her tiny fist tighter against her chest. 

“There you go,” Tilly cooed. “See? You’re a natural.”

Elio didn’t feel like a natural at all - he felt terrified, actually. He looked down at the baby’s face, breathing out in relief when she seemed to still not be ready to burst into tears. She was very cute. 

“She likes you,” Tilly murmured, laying back on the bed, with a sigh. 

“Do you - are you okay? After - after the birth,” Elio asked - blushing when he realised how silly that must sound. 

“Well, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But, it’s worth it, in the end. You know?”

Elio didn’t know, couldn’t know. He looked down at the newborn, her eyes still closed, still snuffling, a bit less quietly now. 

He didn’t have much experience with babies. He was an only child, to start. He’d always wondered how it would have been, to have a brother or sister, but had never actually been able to experience it. And then of course, he’d never thought of having a child of his own - he was still so young. 

“She - she looks so fragile.” Elio looked up at Tilly; he almost didn’t mean to say it out loud. His thoughts had escaped him. 

“She looks fragile, but she isn’t. She has a good strong pair of lungs on her, already.”

Tilly was smiling, looking at her daughter with love in her eyes. Elio followed her gaze, back to the baby, to the little hands now moving a bit more frantically, her snuffling louder, a hiccup making her chest swell and squeeze a couple of times. 

“I think she’s decided it’s time for supper,” Tilly cooed, and reached out. Carefully, Elio transferred the baby into her mother’s arms, and Tilly hugged her to her chest again. 

When Elio looked up, Oliver was gazing at him, from the other side of the room, stood next to Susan and Kieran. A soft smile on his face, one which made Elio blush, and look back down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was certainly cause for celebration, and as Kieran merrily announced that evening, there was also rum waiting for them, alongside the roast potatoes and rabbit that Susan and Sadie had cooked for them all. 

Oliver was persuaded to stay a little longer, because Kieran seemed already drunk on giddiness, and because Tilly’s smile had never been that brilliant. 

It felt a little bit like old times, Oliver was saying to Susan, when the gang still existed, in those nights when they could drink and laugh together. Elio smiled at his husband as he reminisced, wished he could have been there. His time in the gang had been short, and there hadn’t been many occasions to be happy together. 

So when Kieran offered him some rum, the boy accepted. Watched as the Irishman poured a glass for the both of them, though Elio wasn’t sure he was really supposed to drink a full one. He’d had wine before, grappa; beer. Never rum. 

“Ah, go on, kid,” Kieran encouraged, a mischievous smile on his face and winking at Elio, as if to say ‘Oliver’s not looking, don’t you worry about it’ - and he seemed so carefree, so relaxed, that Elio just smiled back, and brought the cup to his lips. 

The rum was sweet yet bitter on his tongue, and Elio coughed at the first sip, rubbed a hand on his mouth. 

“Drink up. Don’t sip, if you don’t like the taste.” 

And Elio knew that Kieran’s instructions certainly didn’t make any sense, but hey, it was a night of celebrations. There was always a first for everything. And so he did as he was told. 

The rum burned at his throat soon, but it wasn’t unpleasant. By his second glass, Elio couldn’t really taste any unpleasantness at all.

“Hey, you. All okay here?”

Oliver’s voice seemed far, yet Oliver was close, right next to him. When had he come over? Elio was sure he’d seen him outside the house, smoking with Susan, last time he’d looked for him. 

“What time is it?” Elio asked, because he thought it was probably good to check. 

“Late,” Oliver grumbled, though there was an amused smile on his face. He wrapped his arm around Elio’s waist. 

“I’m sure it’s not.” Elio frowned, laid his arms on Oliver’s shoulders, leant on him. He felt so heavy, like it was difficult to keep standing up. “We only just got here.”

He felt Oliver’s other arm circle his waist, too. And then his husband’s voice, a low rumble. 

“Kieran. What did you make him drink?”

Drink? Had he drunk? Elio could not remember. 

“Aw, come on, Oliver. You keep this boy on such a tight leash.” Kieran’s voice was amused, gently teasing. Elio wasn’t really sure where he was, didn’t feel like looking around to find their friend. He was only looking up at Oliver, and frowned more. 

“Yes! Yes. You keep me on a leash, Oliver.” He repeated. He blinked, saw Oliver look down at him, frowning too - and Elio pouted. 

Wait a second. 

“Wait, Kieran. No.” He turned around, finally finding Kieran stood next to the kitchen table. A beer in his hand, a big smile on his reddened face. “You would say the same thing as Oliver if Tilly was drinking.”

He wanted to sound serious; resolute. And yet, he felt like he hadn’t managed, somehow. He felt like he was slurring.

He pouted again.

“Right,” Oliver chuckled a little. “I think it’s really time to go home.”

“No no no no no,” Elio turned back around to him, stood on tiptoes - kissed Oliver on the mouth, wetly. Spoke again on his lips. “No no no, Oliver, please. Please let’s stay a bit longer.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, my love. You’re drunk and prattling; we’re going home. Come on.”

Oliver was smiling, still, as Elio made one last attempt at persuasion by giving him the best puppy dog eyes he could - but Oliver kissed his temple, and then led him towards the door, leaving Kieran behind chuckling affectionately. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver had to hold Elio firmly in front of him, as they rode back home on Arthur, to make sure the boy didn’t risk falling off and injuring himself. 

When they arrived at their house, he led him upstairs, to their bedroom, undressed him while Elio still babbled about one thing or another. 

“I’m sorry we had to leave, Oliver, but I feel okay,” the boy mumbled, letting Oliver divest him of his shirt, then his trousers. 

“It’s fine. It’s late now, anyway.”

“But you were having fun. They were having fun. Still having a party.” Elio just said, observed Oliver, as the older man gently nudged him to lay down on the bed. 

“I said it’s fine, my love. Besides, Rosie needed to sleep.” 

And Elio blinked, then. This fog, right in front of his eyes - was so annoying. 

Rosie. Rosie Rosie Rosie. Tilly’s baby. 

“Do you like Rosie, Oliver?” Elio asked. 

Now undressing himself, getting ready to climb into bed, too, Oliver gave him a look. 

“Of course I like her.”

Elio nodded. Looked up at the ceiling. His eyelids were getting so heavy. 

“She’s cute,” he mumbled. He blinked again. He didn’t want to sleep. He wasn’t tired. No, no. He wasn’t. “Do you want one, too?”

There was a moment of silence, and Elio really wanted to open his eyes, when had he closed them again? His eyelids didn’t seem to function, now... 

“Do I want - a baby?” Oliver’s voice sounded kind of hesitant. Surprised. 

“Yeah.” Elio blinked hard, managed to open his eyes. Looked at Oliver. “A baby, like Rosie. I want one.”

He really felt tired, now. What had he just asked Oliver? He was tired, and he forgot the things he said. Maybe it was true, that he needed to sleep. 

He waited, but Oliver didn’t answer. After a while, he felt the older man’s warm, strong fingers stroking his curls away from his forehead. 

“I think you should sleep.” Oliver’s voice was low. Gentle. 

Elio nodded. “My head is spinning.”

“Just sleep. You’ll be okay in the morning.” 

And though Elio couldn’t see him, he felt Oliver’s presence on the bed next to him; and he took a deep breath. Decided to finally give in to sleep. 

“Shhh. Just sleep.” 

Oliver’s voice, a quiet whisper, was the last thing he heard that night. 


	64. When you least expect it

Early in the morning, not long after dawn, before Oliver left for work, was one of Elio’s favourite moments for lovemaking. 

He loved to lay in bed, Oliver on him, looking up into his eyes as he thrust inside him. 

A lot of the times it was slow, deep. A lot of the times Elio let his arms fall to each side of his head, and Oliver held onto his wrists, pushing them down onto the mattress, and Elio looked up at him, moaned at every thrust, tried to keep his eyes open and into Oliver’s eyes - though the closer he got to his orgasm, the harder it was to do that. 

It happened less often, because Oliver left so early in the morning, and most of the times Elio was still asleep by the time his husband was gone. They made love every evening, but when it happened in the morning - it left Elio feeling happy, for the whole day. Reluctant to bathe, wanting to keep Oliver on him and inside him for as long as he could. 

Yes, yes, he hadn’t been with anyone else. But the more time went by, the more Elio was convinced that his husband was the best lover in the whole world. 

Especially when, like today, he ended their morning lovemaking with Elio on his back, his legs on Oliver’s shoulders, Oliver’s beautiful, talented mouth and tongue kissing and laving at his entrance, the growl in Oliver’s throat sounding like a purr as Elio tried to stay still and just feel but ended up writhing, arching, crying out all his pleasure until his throat burned. 

It was one of those days. But this time, when Oliver leaned down after leaving Elio’s body, after washing up and getting dressed, and kissed his forehead, Elio mumbled softly. 

“I’ll need to go to Fort Smith today. At six in the evening - for my performance.”

He’d been asked for perform again, again at the Town Hall. He didn’t open his eyes when Oliver spoke. 

“I’ll be done early. I’ll go with you.” 

Elio opened his eyes then, with a little difficulty because he was still sleepy, and feeling lazy, all tired out and satisfied with sex. 

“Okay,” he nodded. He knew Oliver felt much better if he got to accompany him, especially when he had to leave town. “I’ll wait for you.”

He felt Oliver place a quick, warm kiss on his lips, and then he’d left, and Elio let sleep envelope him once again. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As he’d promised, Oliver returned home in time to go with Elio to Fort Smith. 

Elio had worked all day in the house - the stove needed cleaning, one of the chairs fixing where Rufus had chewed it. The garden was thriving, and Elio got to pick tomatoes and herbs and blueberries which he’d grown himself. It was autumn, however, and the plants would soon start winding down, go dormant. 

Then Elio had dressed up, and he and Oliver had ridden to Fort Smith in the carriage with Arthur. 

The performance was great. Elio was starting to enjoy each time, more and more; he was getting more and more confident, and it showed. 

But he still blushed at the end, when he stood from his stool and the audience clapped, cheered, and he got to bow in front of them like a little consummated artist. 

It was late by then, and so, body still full of adrenaline, he left the town hall together with Oliver, boarded the wagon, unable to stop smiling. 

Until, just as Oliver had spurred Arthur into a trot on the way home, Elio heard a voice, calling his name. 

“Elio! Elio, wait.”

A female voice. A voice he would recognise anywhere. 

He turned back, and saw his mother. And his father. Both standing by the side of the road outside of the Town Hall, looking at him; their faces sad, but hopeful, when he made eye contact with them. 

“Mama?” 

Elio felt like a little child as the word left his lips. He felt his eyes widen, his heart skip a beat for reasons that now had nothing to do with the buzz from his performance. He felt his eyelids burn, his cheeks colour and heat up. 

“Elio.”

His mother’s voice was almost a whisper, but clear, and she held her hands tangled together on her chest as if in prayer. His father stood by her side, an arm around her waist. He looked a little lost, too. Lost, but hopeful. 

His heart now beating a hundred miles a minute, Elio turned towards Oliver, asking silently with his eyes. He wasn’t going to leave the carriage without his permission. 

And when Oliver nodded, Elio jumped down, took a few, careful steps towards the two people who were looking at him as if they’d just finally found their long lost treasure. 

“Mama. Dad.” 

Elio didn’t even know, himself, what he was trying to say. He was babbling; so shocked to see them there, shocked to see them now. Wondering how they’d found him, wondering how they were, finally, together again, in the same place, somehow, unscathed, still alive, after everything that had happened.

“Elio.”

And then, Elio just stopped thinking. He stepped forward; threw himself into this mother’s arms. He was trembling, pushing his face into her shoulder, feeling like crying.

“Elio. Piccino.” His mother’s voice, so close in his ear, was almost surreal. And Elio sobbed, squeezing himself harder against his mother, feeling his father’s hand on his hair, and closing his eyes, wanting to shut out the world, for now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter to drive the plot forward... more to come soon! 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your comments. You have no idea how happy it makes me to read them, and I look forward to posting new updates every time and see what you guys think! Love you xx


	65. I don’t want to lose you

“Piccino. My baby. It’s alright.” 

His mother kept whispering into his ear. And Elio didn’t know if he was crying; he didn’t know if she was crying. He didn’t think so; they were both just overwhelmed. 

“How did you - how did you find me?” Elio asked when he pulled back, to look at his mother and father. 

“We saw your name, on the paper. It mentioned the show in Fort Smith. We travelled three hundred miles to come here this evening. In the hope of seeing you.” 

His father’s eyes were bright, too, as he spoke, and Elio gave him a small, grateful smile. 

“We’re so glad you’re okay, amore mio,” his mother said then, cupped his cheek with a hand. 

“I -“ Elio hesitated. Didn’t know how to explain. What to say. He knew Oliver was standing a few steps back, waiting quietly; Oliver was the reason he was here now, embracing his parents. But where to even start, to tell them everything that had happened?

“This - this is Oliver, mom. He rescued me. He rescued me when I got lost, after I - after I left.” 

He turned back, looking at Oliver, asking him with his eyes to walk over to them.

“Mister Oliver,” Elio’s father reached out with a hand. “Mister Oliver, my name is Samuel, and this is my wife Annella. We are very grateful to you for helping our son. For keeping him safe.”

Oliver looked from one to the other; smiled, hesitantly, shook Samuel’s hand. Elio’s mother stepped closer, hugged him briefly. “Thank you,” she said, quietly. 

Elio watched, as Oliver nodded. And then he looked back at his parents.

“I have so many things to tell you,” he tried, his heart giving a jump at the thought. “So much has happened.”

Annella nodded, as well. Her dark eyes were shining. 

“Can we - could we go somewhere, and talk?” Elio turned to Oliver, looking at his eyes for signs of unhappiness. The question was for his husband, more than for his parents; he knew Oliver had to be up early for work in the morning. 

Elio felt his mother’s knowing eyes on him, on the silent exchange between him and Oliver. 

“We have a room at the saloon for the night. We could sit at a table for a while? It’s quiet, this evening, anyway,” Samuel proposed. 

Elio turned back to Oliver, waiting for a sign for him - but his eyes were wide, begging, hoping his husband understood. 

And once again, Oliver just nodded. 

“It’s not far from here, right?” Elio asked his mother, wrangling his hands together. 

Annella smiled. “No. Not far at all.” And she took his hand, and they all walked towards the saloon, together. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The bar at the saloon was quiet that night, just like Samuel had said. 

Before Elio could follow his parents inside, Oliver took him by the arm, stopping him gently, telling him he would be outside, sorting out Arthur in the stable. His eyes were knowing; and Elio was aware that he was giving him and his family some space.

He just had no idea how he was going to tell them. 

“Look at you.” Sat next to him at the table, his mother cupped his cheek again, stroked it with a thumb. She couldn’t stop looking at him. “You look well. And you were so wonderful tonight.”

Elio blushed a little, smiled shyly for his mother. There had been a time, a lifetime ago, when he used to hate his mother praising and fussing over him, found that he didn’t know what to do with himself when she did that. 

Now, it felt like a warm embrace. Like familiarity. It was something he’d missed so much. 

“Mom, dad, I -“ he started. Had to stop, take a deep breath. But he needed to do this. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I left.”

Eyes downturned, his cheeks flushed, he lowered his gaze, feeling shame burn at his insides. 

“I’m sorry that I ran, I ran because I had a fight with Mafalda, I ran like a stupid child. I’m really sorry.” 

His breathing had accelerated a little, and he had to stop, to get himself under control again. This was supposed to be him showing them that he wasn’t that spoiled child anymore. 

Annella pursed her lips, her black eyes the same shape of her son’s. She stroked his cheek again. 

Next to her, Samuel looked at him, seriously. 

“It’s alright. It’s alright, Elli. You’re okay, we’re here now. It’s all that matters.”

“How is Mafalda?” Elio asked, suppressing a sob, wiping his cheek with the palm of his hand. “Is she still really mad at me?”

“Of course she isn’t, baby,” Annella shook her head, caressed his cheek again. “She’s been inconsolable since you left. _Non si dava pace_. She thought you were angry at her, too.” 

Elio smiled a little, and Annella smiled back. 

“She’ll be so happy to see you when we go home. Just you wait.”

Elio bit his lip. His mother’s words reminded him of the other, huge piece of news he needed to tell his parents; and he sighed, held his hands on the table, fingers wrangling together in anxiety. 

“Mama, I - I have something to tell you.”

It was an unnecessary preamble, a way to take some time and yet to introduce his speech, somehow. The truth was, he didn’t know where to start. 

He decided to be direct. 

“Mama. I’m with Oliver, now. I’m - we’re married. We live together. He didn’t just save me, I - I fell in love with him. I’m -I’m his, now.”

By the time he’d finished talking, he felt like he was breathless, like he’d forgotten to draw any air. He felt almost light-headed, and he forced himself to take a breath, his lungs stinging with the effort. 

His parents were both quiet for a long moment. And Elio looked down, and spoke again, desperate to break the silence.

“We live together, Oliver and I. We have a good life, we - we have horses, and chickens, and a garden, and - we have a dog. It’s good.” He looked back up, into his mother’s eyes, then his father’s. “It’s good, and I’m happy. I promise.”

Another moment went by. A moment in which all Elio could hear was his own heart, beating like a drum in his chest. 

And then; his mother reached out a hand, placed it on top of Elio’s on the table. Her thumb stroked, sliding, light, over his wedding ring. 

“My love. Why are you crying?”

And Elio frowned. He touched his face with his other hand; finding wetness, tears on his cheek. 

He hadn’t noticed. Had not realised that was happening. 

“I don’t - I don’t want to lose you,” he murmured, sincerely. 

“Elio.” It was his father who spoke, this time. “Elli. You’re not going to lose us. Don’t you ever think that for a second.”

Elio took a breath, looked from his father to his mother - she was smiling, very gently. He looked to his father again. 

“You’re our son,” Samuel continued. “We want you to be happy. If you are happy, then - we will be happy too. With you.”

Through his tears, Elio smiled, feeling his heart swell. With love, with relief. 

He’d just found his parents again - he didn’t want to lose them. 

It had been so hard without them. 

Samuel reached out, and ruffled his hair, a gentle smile on his face and his eyes watching Elio carefully. Elio wiped at the tears on his cheeks; and smiled back. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver had waited at the bar, and when Elio found him, he was sipping from a glass of rum. He must have been just as nervous as him. 

“Do you want to join us?” Elio asked, looking up into his eyes. He smiled. “I’ve told them. So. They know.”

Oliver nodded. “Yes. In a minute.”

Elio smiled again. Then, before turning around and going back to the table, he bit his lower lip, looked back up at Oliver. 

“Would it be okay if - it they stayed with us, for a couple of nights?” he asked. “I haven’t proposed it yet but - they live so far away, and - and I haven’t seen them in so long. And there’s no saloon in Aurora. I - I want to show them our house, and - and Rufus, and the garden, and “

“Hey, hey,” Oliver stopped him. He had a half-smile on his lips, and he was looking at Elio, eyes amused, severe, and tender, all at the same time. “I know. I know you want to spend some time with them, before they leave. It’s fine.”

The smile that split his lips was one of the biggest Elio had ever given him, probably. 

“Thank you, thank you!” the boy said, almost bouncing on his feet, as he left to walk back to the table, back to his parents. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of notes... 
> 
> \- translation for ‘Non si dava pace’: it’s Italian for ‘she couldn’t find peace’. 
> 
> -I meant to tell you this as a note to the previous chapter but I forgot - this is the piece Elio played when he performed: https://youtu.be/t4Zd-X0JzOo 
> 
> I love it so much! 
> 
> \- and finally: please keep commenting!!! I read them all, and you are the best. Xx


	66. Last forever

Elio spent a lot of time with his parents. 

Oliver watched him, as he curled up on the couch with his mother, her hands stroking his hair gently, or as he sat with his father at the table, talking quietly, Samuel smiling at him, observing him intently when it was Elio’s turn to talk. 

Elio was very affectionate with his parents. They seemed to be a very tactile family, very at ease with each other, in their own skin. And Oliver understood: Elio hadn’t seen his mother and father in so long. Elio was not even eighteen yet. He’d had to grow up quickly. 

Oliver understood the need Elio had to relish his parents’ company, to soak up all the tender touches and closeness with his mother and his complicity with his father. 

Oliver understood, even though he’d never had anything like that, in his own life. 

And so he went to work, let them have their space, and their time. At night, he ate supper with them, watching their exchanges - knowing that, every time Samuel and Annella asked him something, spoke to him, they were making an effort. They wanted to make him feel included, Oliver was sure of it. 

And yet he felt like there was something, something still between them, something that still had to happen. 

And on the third night, finally, it did. 

Elio had been cooking for most of the day, wanting to show his mother a new recipe he’d learnt - a casserole which had been passed on to him by the reverend’s wife, and which, apparently, took hours and hours to prepare. Exhausted, he’d fallen asleep on the couch in the evening; his mother’s hand in his hair, while Annella sat, and read quietly next to him. 

“I was wondering if you were amenable to smoking a cigar together, Oliver?” 

Samuel’s voice reached him, outside, later, as Oliver got the horses settled for the night. 

The air was pleasantly chilly, the sky was clear. Oliver looked up, at the man who stood a few feet away, a serene expression on his face, a box of cigars in his hand. 

Oliver looked back at Lady. Patted her forehead, gave one last tug to her ties, to make sure they would last the night. 

“Yeah. Yes,” he corrected himself, a sheepish look on his face. “That would be good.” He stepped away from the horses and towards Samuel, and the man held the box towards him for Oliver to pick a cigar from. 

“It’s a nice night, isn’t it,” Samuel said. He lit his cigar, took one drag from it. 

Next to him, Oliver took a breath; then did the same. 

“Yes. The weather is fair, around here. It just changes quite drastically, going into winter. Not really looking forward to that.”

Samuel looked at him. He had lively eyes, and they were studying Oliver, full of curiosity. 

“You’re building quite a nice ranch, here.” He took another drag of the cigar. “I appreciate the life and the care you’ve been giving my son.”

Oliver nodded, looked down. “He’s been caring for me, too.”

“Indeed, yes. Elio’s grown up so much. My wife and I are very proud of him.”

Oliver looked at him, out of the corner of his eye. Samuel still looked ahead, smiling calmly - Oliver could not tell where this speech was going to go. 

He imagined it was a father talking to the man who’d married his child, he guessed it was going to be perhaps a warning, perhaps an assertion of his authority still on his young son, on his intention of protecting him, even from Oliver, if needed be. 

Oliver couldn’t say he was ready for such a speech, but he’d take it all the same, of course. 

“Oliver. Annella and I are going to move to Italy, for some time.” 

Well. This was something Oliver wasn’t expecting. 

His feelings must have been very clear on his face because Samuel continued. 

“We made this decision weeks ago, when we thought - we hadn’t heard from Elio in such a long time, we thought we’d never see him again. We spent days and days, debating - heartbroken. We thought it would be best for us to leave, to put some space between us and the pain for a while.” 

“But - you know where he is now. You know he’s alright.” Oliver shook his head, frowning. 

“Preparations have been made, there’s work I have to do there for a few months.” Samuel took another drag of the cigar. “We are over the moon that Elio is well, and happy. And holding him in our arms and talking to him, spending all this time with him has made us the happiest parents in the whole world. And we have you to thank.”

Oliver looked down again, looked up at Samuel moments later. “But - how will Elio react to- to this?”

“We haven’t told him yet, and we’re not going to tell him, until we have to. Until we have to leave. We don’t want to make him sad, or upset.” Samuel still had a gentle smile on his face. He seemed so pragmatic. 

He and Annella were going to stay for a few more days, had been persuaded to postpone their return home by both Elio and Oliver.

It was nice, having them around. Oliver loved the smile that Elio seemed to wear on his face every day, now that he’d finally been reunited with his parents. 

“Samuel,” Oliver spoke then. It felt strange to use the man’s first name like that - he hoped he wasn’t being disrespectful. He looked at his feet, and then back up, into the older man’s eyes as he stood next to him. “I just want you to know that - if Elio chooses he wants to go with you; I’m not going to stand in his way. I’m not going to stop him, or discourage him.” 

His heart had accelerated its rhythm. It felt painful, to say those words - but Oliver had to. Finding out that his parents, whom he’d just been reunited with, were about to leave, about to go away beyond the ocean for so long, was going to break Elio’s heart. Oliver wasn’t going to make it any worse. 

Samuel’s gentle smile widened. “Elio won’t want to leave you,” he murmured. And he seemed serene. “You know, Oliver. Elio is my only son. You can imagine how reluctant I am to think of him leaving us, starting his own life, so young.” Samuel reached out, patted Oliver’s arm. “So, I am happy that it’s you who he’s decided to start a life with. You’re an honourable man.”

And with that, Samuel gave him one more small smile, patted his arm again, and walked back into the cabin. 

And Oliver stood, finishing the last drags of his cigar, looking out into the woods and the night, and thinking of everything that he’d just been told. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I haven’t been to the theatre in so long!” 

Elio walked alongside his parents, almost jumping out of excitement. They were in Fort Smith, the next night, on their way to attend a show that Samuel and Annella has bought tickets for, for all of them.

Walking a couple of steps behind them, not taking his eyes off of his young husband for a moment, Oliver smiled. It was good to see him so excited again. 

In the theatre, after, Elio’s mesmerised expression as he watched the play mesmerised Oliver in return; the boy hugged himself against him as they exited, taking advantage of the dark in the theatre and outside into the night, and Oliver held him, kissed his hair without saying anything. All he wanted to say, really, was that he loved Elio; all he wanted to tell him was that. But he stopped himself, kept it for later. If he told him now, he would have kissed Elio, and they were in public, and it wasn’t wise. 

Later. 

They went and had some dinner in a nearby restaurant. Samuel got rum for Oliver and for himself; Oliver let Elio try some, chuckled with amusement at the face the boy pulled at the taste. 

Elio chattered excitedly throughout dinner, about this and that, about playing piano and Belle and Lady, and Rufus, who loved the horses. 

“Perhaps you should keep a horse ranch. You’ve always loved horses, Piccino,” Annella said, smiling. She was holding a cigarette in her hand, smoked it leisurely while she listened to the boys and their tales. 

“Yes! A horse ranch. Yes, yes,” Elio nodded, his cheeks rosy with excitement. “Oliver, can we?” he asked, turning pleading, shining eyes onto his husband. 

“We’ll talk about it. I’m sure we can,” Oliver chuckled - and received a large smile from Elio in return. 

The boy continued his chattering; as excited as Oliver had ever seen him. 

And Oliver reached out, took his hand under the table. Held it in his, stroked his skin with his thumb. Willing this moment, right here, this instant of perfection, to last as long as possible. 


	67. Of loss, and life

Annella’s embrace seemed to want to last forever. 

Elio clung to it for as long as he could. He pushed his face into his mother’s shoulder. Tightened his arms around her. He was trembling, and she was running her fingers through his curls, kissing his cheek. She wasn’t saying anything. 

Samuel observed them in silence, his eyes shining with a little sadness. He’d been insisting they shouldn’t be upset, shouldn’t be sad - it was just for a few months, then they’d be back, they’d be in touch. He’d looked at Elio, when it was their turn to say their goodbyes, smiled, told him that it was all fine. It was okay. Just how it was supposed to be - Elio was growing up, he needed to have his own life, his own space. He’d been so good so far, he was doing so well. He was going to thrive. He was going to make it. 

Elio had looked at him, tears in his eyes, his lovely face reddened with the effort to keep himself together. He’d nodded, smiled. 

“We will see each other again,” Samuel had said. 

Elio and Oliver had watched them, once they boarded their train in Fort Smith, stood on the platform until their carriage had all but disappeared on the horizon. 

Elio had been quiet as they rode home, on their wagon. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He’d been quiet that evening, too, at dinner, while he cooked their food. He’d had a couple of mouthfuls, himself, but no more. He’d told Oliver he was really tired, and he was going to go lie down on the bed for a little while. 

Of course, Oliver knew better. 

He cleaned up the remnants of their dinner. Settled Rufus for the night, the horses and the chickens, washed, and then climbed the stairs to their bedroom. Undressed, shedding clothes as he walked to the bed, lay down on the mattress. Took Elio into his arms.

Face pushed against Oliver’s chest, handson his neck and in his hair, Elio, silently, cried. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver had never seen Elio that sad before, but then again, he’d never had what Elio shared with his parents. 

He could only begin to imagine the ache the boy was feeling, the longing and the sense of loss -his parents were still alive, but somewhere else, somewhere far. And loving someone but not knowing when, and if you were going to see them again hurt. Oliver could only begin to imagine how much. 

So, the next day, he didn’t leave the house. Didn’t take any jobs, just stayed in bed with Elio, his mouth in the boy’s hair. And, from the way that Elio didn’t question it, from the way he just burrowed deeper into his embrace and pushed his face into his chest, Oliver knew he needed him. 

At lunchtime, Elio said he wasn’t hungry. He fell asleep, soon after that; and Oliver let him. Went downstairs to eat some food, feed Rufus, watching him run back to Elio as soon as he was done eating. 

In the evening, Oliver walked back into the bedroom, carrying two mugs with hot chocolate. Made like Elio had taught him to, the way Elio liked. 

He watched the boy frown for a few moments, blinking. Slowly pulling himself up to sitting, rubbing one eye with his hand. 

“Have some of this,” Oliver said quietly, reaching out to let Elio wrap his hands around one of the warm cups.

If Elio wasn’t eating, then at least he wouldn’t have his belly completely empty until he felt hungry again.

Elio smiled gently. “Thank you.”

His hair was ruffled, curls tangled; his cheeks reddened. 

Oliver’s chest ached with how protective he felt towards him right at that moment. 

“You can sleep some more, if you want to,” he murmured, sitting on his side of the bed, watching Elio sip the hot chocolate. “I can make some food for when you get hungry.”

Elio swallowed. His eyes were large, bottomless. Downturned. “I’m sorry. I just feel so tired.”

Oliver smiled, softly. “It’s okay.” He reached out, took the empty mug from the boy’s hands. “Go back to sleep.”

And when Elio did, curling up on his side of the bed, Rufus jumping next to him and making himself small to fit under Elio’s arm against his chest, Oliver went downstairs, to tidy up, get some food ready, in case Elio became hungry later. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The morning after, Oliver let himself sleep in for a while. 

He was going to take another day for Elio and himself. Samuel and Annella had given them a sum of money to last them a few weeks - and of course Oliver intended to save it, but Elio needed him now, and he didn’t feel happy leaving him alone just yet. 

When Oliver opened his eyes, rubbed sleep off of them and blinked into the light from outside seeping into the room, Elio wasn’t asleep. He was standing by the foot of the bed, naked aside for a cloth around his waist, curls damp. 

“You went to wash?” Oliver mumbled, stretching a little bit, as he tried to shake the sleep off of his limbs. 

Elio nodded. He had a tiny, tentative smile on his face, and Oliver let himself look at him. 

Taking a step towards the bed, Elio unlatched the towel around his waist, and let it fall to the floor. Until he stood naked - and then he crawled, slowly, towards Oliver. Straddled him, one leg on each side of Oliver’s hips; sitting down, his thighs wide, his body naked, and so warm it felt almost feverish. 

Oliver did not have time to think, because Elio leant down, cupped his face, and kissed him. Slow, sweet, but slowly turning into deep and intense. 

Elio only left his lips when he had to reach towards the small bedside table, to grab the oil they always used, and he wordlessly pressed it into Oliver’s hands.

Oliver’s hands trembled, with desire, and he took hold of Elio’s hips, pulled him toward and tighter against his own pelvis, guided his slow movements that stroked skin against skin in the most delicious of ways. 

Elio sighed, dropped his forehead down on Oliver’s shoulder. His lower body still moved, as if by instinct only. Oliver could feel that he was getting close, closer and closer to the climax - the boy’s lean muscles tense and quivering, his sex rigid, tight against his belly - and so, he took action. 

He watched Elio’s face intently, as he breached his body with two fingers, pushing them deep. Elio lifted himself up a little to make space and leant his head forward, his lips on Oliver’s lips, eyes closed, moaning at each pass of Oliver’s fingers over that sweet spot inside his body. 

“Now?” Oliver husked against Elio’s mouth, his own muscles shivering with anticipation. And Elio nodded, his eyes still closed, as if delirious with want and desire. 

Elio took him into his body gracefully. And then, eyes still closed, hands holding onto Oliver’s shoulders for support, he started moving. Up and down, up and down. Slow at first; his hips sliding and undulating, working with Oliver’s body. 

For a while, Oliver just watched him; just as mesmerised as he had been when he was watching Elio play the piano. 

He held his hands down on the mattress and just watched his young lover as he rode him, eyes closed, taking his pleasure. Watched his lean, smooth chest shining with perspiration, and water from his wash, still; watched his hands, palms down on Oliver’s chest, fingers deep into the curly hair there. 

It was a show. He raised up until Oliver almost left his body and then descended again, all the way down, sitting on Oliver’s lap. Oliver let him do it, watched him arch his spine each time, watched his nipples tighten, the smooth porcelain skin of his chest become rosy with the effort, with the perspiration. 

“I missed this.” Oliver reached out with his hands; wrapped his palms, large in comparison, around Elio’s hipbones. 

He had missed it. They hadn’t had sex for the whole time Elio’s parents had lived with them; Oliver had really missed it. 

“I missed it too,” Elio breathed. 

Oliver tightened his hold on the boy’s hips. Watched his thumb leave a rosy imprint on that tight, delicate white skin. He tightened it a little more; until he could push Elio up, pull him back down with no resistance. Guide his movements, make him raise and lower himself on Oliver’s sex, encouraging a faster, more intense rhythm. 

Elio’s body was silky inside, warm and wet, and Oliver closed his eyes, forced the boy to move faster, faster. Until he clawed at his hips and stopped him, holding him down on himself, kissing him right in the middle of his chest; coming deep inside his body. 

He held him there and wrapped a hand around him, squeezed and stroked until Elio arched back, with a cry, tightened once more around Oliver, and both were sore, exhausted, and sated. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Let’s go for a walk, today?” Elio murmured after, rubbing his mouth on Oliver’s shoulder. “It’s a nice day outside.”

Still lying side by side on the bed, still naked, Oliver turned to look at him, smiled. 

“Okay. What do you want to do?”

“Mmh.” Elio’s index finger drew a curly caress on Oliver’s chest, the boy following the movement with his eyes. “It’s been a while since we’ve been fishing. Maybe we can do that? And take Rufus with us. He’ll be excited.”

Oliver chuckled. He tried not to show it, but he was so happy, happy that Elio seemed to feel better. He’d do anything he asked, now, if he meant he could see his smile. 

“Sure. Sure, we’ll do that.”

He took Elio’s hand in his, brought it up to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. And when Elio looked at him, he gazed back, smiling, and receiving a gentle, grateful smile in return. 


	68. For The Whole of Winter

In front of the mirror, Elio tried to fix his hair. He’d cut his curls a little but they were still long, still twirling untamed around his ears, and he pulled them back, trying to make them stay in place. 

As he raised his arms his shirt rode up, too, revealed a sliver of slender abdomen. 

Sat on the bed from where he’d been watching him, Oliver leant towards him, kissed a hipbone. 

“Hey!” Elio protested playfully, giggling, feeling ticklish and trying to squirm out of the way, but not moving his hands from where they were still trying to tame his curls. 

“You should eat more. You’re too skinny,” Oliver grumbled, pulling back to sit on the edge of the mattress. 

“I’ve always been like this.”

“But now it’s winter. You need to be more careful.”

Elio turned towards his husband, shook his head. “We’re not bears, Oliver.” He laughed, gently, looked back into the mirror. Frowned at his reflection, pulling a stubborn strand of hair away from his forehead.

“And why are you grooming yourself so much, today? Is there someone you’re planning to impress at the church?” Oliver grumbled, again. “Mmmh?

Elio looked back at him. Rolled his eyes. 

“Oliver! Of course not. I’m not trying to impress anyone.”

Oliver grabbed Elio by the hips, making him yelp. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” He growled, looking up at the boy, eyes playfully hard and frowning - but he didn’t give him time to reply and just pushed his mouth against his concave tummy, kissing the skin there, holding his hips steady with his hands so not to let him try and wiggle away.

“Oliver!” Elio protested, his hands on Oliver’s shoulders, trying to pull back, laughing. “Oliver! Please, please. I have to go! I’ll be late.”

He tried to push Oliver away, half-heartedly, but still. And Oliver just kissed his abdomen again, pulled the waist of his trousers down with a thumb, for his lips to kiss lower, just where that tenuous trail of light fuzz started that lead down in between Elio’s legs. 

“Oh, no, Mister. If I don’t let you, you’re not going anywhere.”

Elio stopped wiggling. Closed his eyes, at the feel of his husband’s warm lips on his body, so close to their goal. 

“Oliver...”

He knew that Oliver was only joking, that he wouldn’t keep him home on the day of a performance. He was supportive, he helped Elio with this job of his - with his passion. 

It was just that today he was being fussy - perhaps he felt neglected. Elio promised himself that he would spend a lot of time, that night, taking care of Oliver’s needs, to make sure he felt he had Elio’s attention. 

He walked in between Oliver’s legs, cupped his face with his hands. 

“Don’t be jealous,” he murmured on his mouth, leant down to kiss him. 

And before he could pull back, Oliver kissed him again, with another growl, bit his lower lip gently between his teeth - and Elio was caught by surprise, gasped for a moment, before laughing, and playfully shaking Oliver’s hands off of his body to go and wear his jacket, to finish off his outfit for the performance. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It had been winter for about three weeks. 

The air was cold, bit at any patch of skin that anyone dared to left uncovered. The wind was merciless almost every day. 

In the past couple of months Oliver had finished building the stable for Arthur, Lady and Belle, giving the horses a shelter from the elements, and Elio kept Rufus indoors most of the time.

The vegetable garden was empty, seemingly barren - Elio missed not looking after his plants, but he knew it was just until the next spring. 

That day, the sky was a lucent diamond-grey. As if the clouds had melted into it, diluted the blue into icy white. The air felt colder. 

Elio wore his fur coat to go out, and so did Oliver, as he drove him into town and to the church that afternoon. 

It was a very simple, very ordinary performance, one of those that the Reverend had begun asking Elio for more and more often, and so Elio wasn’t worried. 

He wasn’t expecting Oliver to stay and watch, either - it was happening less these days, because it was common for the older man to be working at the time that Elio was requested to play. 

And so Elio was surprised to see him, waiting by the pews, when he finished his piece. 

“Oliver,” Elio murmured to him, frowning, once he walked to him. “I thought you had to go to the horseshoer?”

Oliver shook his head, his brows knitted like when he was worried about something. 

“No. Let’s go, baby. We need to go.”

Elio frowned more deeply. 

“But - I have another performance in twenty minutes. I can’t leave yet.”

“We will have to,” Oliver almost interrupted him. “There’s a snow storm coming. Come on, let’s go.”

Elio’s eyes went wide. A snow storm? 

He let Oliver hold him by the wrist, leading him to the door, and then outside towards their wagon. 

Elio looked around, at the wind that made all the trees lose the very last of their leaves, at how that road seemed deserted, with everyone hiding inside their house waiting for the storm to come and go. 

Oliver made him get on the wagon and then, quickly, he spurred Arthur on towards their cottage, pushing him to go as fast as he could. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That was how, Elio supposed, his first winter of his new life with Oliver really started. 

The snow storm began rather suddenly, with the wind picking up in strength, roaring against the roof of their cabin, blowing away debris from the road. 

Oliver lit their fireplace, and Elio watched, by the window, as the sky turned a darker shade of grey, and a strange rain mixed with snow started. 

“Will the horses be okay,” Elio turned to Oliver, his jaw set in worry. 

“Yes,” Oliver sighed. “I reinforced the stable because I knew this would happen. They’ll be fine - they’re strong animals.”

Elio turned his gaze back onto what he could see from the window. The snow was thicker, now; the wind slapping across it, so violent it was pushing it sideways, howling against their chimney. 

He’d heard winters in that state could be long, and very cold. Oliver had told him that there was always that one first storm that really started the cold season, the one that made the snow settle, and freeze, and remain there for months until spring, finally, finally appeared. 

They were ready, they’d been prepared. Their pantry was full, their rations planned. They were going to be able to go into town once the wind stopped, once the snow slowed down - but it was best not to go very often. 

Elio shivered in his fur blanket. Turned around to look at Oliver, hoping the older man was not too busy, hoping he was free to hold him in his arms for a while. 

He wanted to think about Sadie, Susan, Tilly and her baby, about his parents. But he forced himself not to. Oliver had told him - looking him straight into the eyes, serious: worrying was useless. It just damaged your spirit, made you sad; because in those times, in winter, there was no way to know how your loved ones were doing if they lived far away. Until that time in which you could travel to them or them to you - until then, you just had to tell yourself they were okay. You just had to be strong. 

Elio set his jaw. 

“Please, can we sit by the fire for a little while?” He asked, pulling the fur blanket tighter against his body. “I’m cold.”

He knew he was being needy, but he couldn’t help it. He raised his eyes onto Oliver; looked at him, until the older man gave him a little smile. Nodded. 

“Come here.” 

He placed a fur blanket by the fireplace. Sat down onto it, took Elio’s wrist and made him sit down, too. Back against his chest, Oliver embraced him from behind, held him against himself. 

“Does this make you happy?” he murmured, low, against the boy’s neck. 

Elio tightened Oliver’s arms around himself. Nodded. 

“Yes.” He turned back, to push his nose against Oliver’s throat. “I wish we could sit like this. For the whole of winter.”

“I wish that, too.” Oliver’s voice was warm, almost as warm as the fire that crackled next to them.

Rufus whined quietly, in his sleep, as he lay curled up on a corner of the fur blanket. 

Elio twined his fingers with Oliver’s. Turned to the side, to let him kiss his lips; then sighed, relaxed back against his husband’s wide, reassuring chest. 

He felt no longer cold. He was warm, safe; cared for. Belonged to a husband who held him in his arms, handled him like he was precious, and looked after his every need. A man he’d given himself to, completely, body and soul, never regretting it for one moment; a man he was now going to spend his first, long winter of his real, adult life with. 

And Elio was not scared. He was looking forward to it. 

As long as he and Oliver were together, he was ready to face anything.

 

** _End of Part One**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part One of this story ends here. 
> 
> I am so grateful to all of you who followed the story so far, and left me so many lovely comments. I read them all, in fact, every time I receive a notification, I smile so hard and can’t wait to read it. 
> 
> So please, do let me know what you thought. And if you want to read more.   
> I’d love to continue it, if you guys are interested. And if you have anything you’d like to see, any character you’d like to come back, do let me know - on Twitter, tumblr, or even here. 
> 
> In the meantime, thank you so much again to whoever took the time to read and comment! I love you. Xx


	69. Goldberg Variation

_** Part 2 - three years later**_

 

 

“Clara. Please concentrate. We’re nearly done for today.”

Elio tried to keep himself from sighing. 

He reminded himself he was teaching a sixteen year old girl - one with a short attention span, fine, but still. He needed tobe patient. 

Sat next to him in front of the piano, the girl sighed for him instead. 

“How many times do I have to rehearse this? You know I know it well already.”

“If you did, I wouldn’t make you play it again, now, would I?” Elio took a breath. “Everyone can do with one more pass,” he added, to soften his comment. 

Clara was not a bad student. She was talented. When she put her mind to it, she was good; she had a great sense of musical rhythm. 

The problem was that she was easily distracted. 

And she seemed to have a crush on Oliver.

The fact that Elio was giving lessons from their house now did not help her obsession. 

“I’ll have to be home at six today. Will Oliver take me back?”

“Yes, I know. I’ve spoken to your mother,” Elio nodded. Took another breath. “Yes, Oliver will take you back.”

He didn’t miss her victorious smile. This time, while she was looking down at her fingers on the keys, he allowed himself to roll his eyes. 

That she thought she could have a chance with Oliver amused him to no end. No, he wasn’t jealous; he was sure of it. 

He was nearly twenty years old now and he’d been with Oliver for close to three years. Even though most people didn’t know, even though most people would not consider it real, they were married. 

Elio was happy, and he wasn’t about to be jealous of a teenage girl who didn’t realise that the twenty-eight year old rancher whose house she took piano lessons in was both not interested, nor available to her. 

“I think it’s so nice that he bought this piano for you,” Clara said then, sighing dreamily. “All my friends think he’s so wonderful. Handsome, strong, brave, generous...”

“Could we finish this piece, then?” Elio interrupted her. It was becoming really hard not to roll his eyes now. “You have only ten minutes left, and your mother will not be happy if she knows we spent the whole time chitchatting.”

Of course, she rolled her eyes then, instead of him. But luckily, she looked back down at the keys, and obeyed Elio’s request, much to his relief. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

While Oliver was out, taking Clara home, Elio went to the paddock to see to the horses. 

They had nine of them, now. Arthur, Lady and Belle; four more they had bought for their ranch; and two foals. 

Elio loved looking after them. It was a lot of work, of course. But he loved getting them out in the morning, making sure they were fed, watered and cleaned, he loved checking on each of them and he loved riding them. His parents’ idea of keeping a horse ranch had been great. Elio hoped they could add to their little team soon. 

After checking on the horses, he fed Rufus and the chickens - they had quite a few, now; watered his garden, and then went back into the house to start dinner. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The moment just before bedtime was one of Elio’s favourites. 

Like most days, they started kissing as they undressed each other. Tonight, Oliver had only just finished washing, and his hair - a little longer now, the blonde strands a little more evident - fell over his eyes a little, around his ears. He had a beard, a short one, blond hair covering his chin and his upper lip. Elio loved it - loved the feel of it, the way it rubbed on his lips, the way it made his skin redden deliciously.

“Clara likes you,” Elio murmured, as Oliver made him lie back on the bed once they were both naked. The candle they always had burning on the nightstand flickered, and made Oliver’s eyes look even bluer. 

“Does she?” Oliver’s large hand stroked Elio’s body, from armpit to rump, as the older man hovered over him, an impish smile on his face. 

Elio nodded. Let Oliver kiss his lips. 

“Yes. A lot. She thinks she can have you. She’s obsessed.”

“Mmmh.” Oliver kissed him again; lingering on his lips. “I’m flattered.”

Elio narrowed his eyes. He made a fist with a hand, punched Oliver’s bicep lightly. 

“You’re not supposed to be flattered! You’re supposed to - find it ridiculous. Funny. I don’t know.”

His mouth on Elio’s collarbone, Oliver looked up at him. 

“Do you?”

His voice was just a husk. His eyes were so blue, almost blazing. The muscles of his arms were tense, as he held himself up over Elio. 

And Elio just wanted to open his legs, have his husband inside him already. 

“Yes, I find it funny. But you don’t.” He turned his face to the side when Oliver tried to kiss him again. “You’re ‘flattered’.”

He forced himself to look away from Oliver, to continue his charade of wanting his lover to fuss over him, wanting him to say exactly what Elio wanted.

And Oliver sighed. 

“I stopped being interested in women a long time ago,” he heard Oliver’s rough voice whisper. He felt him kiss his chin; and Elio turned around, looked into his eyes. 

“And men.”

“Yes,” Oliver nodded. “And men. I only see you, now.”

Well. That was enough. And, frankly, Elio was on the brink of screaming, if he didn’t have Oliver inside him soon. He was tired of his own fussiness. 

He smiled, and let Oliver take his mouth in a deep, deep kiss, one that made him moan as soon as he felt the older man’s tongue stroke his own. 

He moaned again when Oliver’s hand held his thigh, moved it to the side to force his legs open. Moaned even louder, a cry almost pained, when his husband thrust inside him. 

It felt so, so good. 

It felt even better when Oliver placed his hand on Elio’s abdomen, while he fucked him, and pushed down. Fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck. It felt so good. 

“Feels so good,” Oliver growled on his mouth, fucking into him faster, his hand pushing down firmly. 

Elio wanted to keep looking up at him but the pleasure was too strong, too intense. The hand on his belly pressed and made Oliver’s sex hit that sweet spot inside Elio’s body harder, and fuck, Elio felt he could hardly breathe. Fuck, fuck, fuck... 

“I love you, you’re perfect,” Oliver chanted on his mouth, against his neck, his thrusts getting faster, harder, the hand still holding down on Elio’s abdomen, and Elio wanted to moan and moan until he felt his throat raw and dry and realised he had been crying out the whole time. He came hard on his own chest, on Oliver’s hand, and arched his back when Oliver gave one last violent thrust and held still, coming inside of him. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the morning, Elio woke up early, as he usually did. Walked to the bath room - Oliver had built one now, a small one, sure, but it was nice to have a bathtub in a room which wasn’t the same as the sitting room - and then to the kitchen to make some breakfast for Oliver, Rufus and himself. 

He was stroking Rufus’s ears, as the dog ate, a few minutes later, when Oliver walked in. Nudged him gently to stand up, kissed his lips. 

“Good morning,” he said, and Elio smiled. “Are you okay?”

Elio smiled again. “Yes. Never been better.”

Oliver nodded, a pleased expression on his face. And then he walked over to the stove, poured himself some coffee from the percolator. 

After having some coffee himself, Elio went to get dressed, and returned a few minutes later, riding gear in hand. 

“Remember I promised Tilly I would look after Rosie today?” He said, in response to Oliver’s enquiring look. “She and Sadie are at work, and Susan is still in bed with a fever.”

Oliver nodded, then. 

“We’ll need to call Doctor Laurie soon, if that doesn’t improve.” 

Elio rose on tip toes, gave him a kiss on the cheek. 

“I’ll keep an eye on her.”

He walked to the door, opened it to let Rufus out and to leave, himself - but saw a letter on the ground just outside. It was addressed to Oliver. 

“There’s a letter for you here.” He walked back in, placed the envelope on the table, next to Oliver’s cup. “See you this evening.”

And with that, he walked to the stable, to saddle Lady up and ride to Tilly’s house. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back! :) 
> 
> Leave a comment please! Let me know what you think :) 
> 
> Love xx


	70. You’re going to have to figure it out

When Oliver thought back to the people he’d had connections with, the people he’d liked; the people he’d had relationships with, before, before he met Elio - he could hardly remember them.

It wasn’t a lot of them. Because of the existence he’d always led, because of its very nature, Oliver had always had to busy himself with surviving, with making ends meet, first, and then with learning the gang life and making sure he could hide and run at the drop of a hat, after. 

Because of that, he hadn’t had very many meaningful relationships. 

But he’d certainly had lovers. Before. During what he now considered a sort of past life. A sort of ‘first’ life. Before Elio, before falling in love - before deciding that, no matter the freedom and independence that being an outlaw afforded him, protecting the person he loved more than anything in the world was way more important, to him. 

One of these past lovers was a woman called Beatrice. 

It wasn’t long ago that they’d seen each other for the last time. Around four years prior. 

The letter that came for him was from her. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When he’d known Beatrice, she was living in Santa Maria with a grandmother. 

She had lost her parents as a child. He’d met her in a field where she was working, that day. Oliver, honestly, could barely remember how it all happened. 

It was Thanksgiving Day, he could recall that. He remembered the salon. He remembered kissing her. 

They saw each other a handful of times, no more. It was an impossible relationship, he’d thought at the time, before he even knew what a real, seemingly impossible relationship was going to be like, before discovering that the heart ignored any obstacle when it came to actual, true love. 

But it was never love, what tied him to her. It was, probably, nothing. 

And until then, he’d thought the feeling was mutual. 

This is why he was rather surprised to receive a letter from her.

Beatrice had never been the sentimental type. She’d never even looked for him once, after they parted - or, better, after he’d gone away once again with the gang, leaving her behind like everything else. 

He was surprised, and found himself frowning while he opened the envelope. Looking at the paper, at the spidery calligraphy on it, he realised he’d never even known what her handwriting looked like. 

And yet this was certainly Beatrice, writing to him. The letter was recent - sent only perhaps a couple of weeks before. 

Oliver could not stop frowning while he read it.  It was rather matter of fact, but, somehow, also rather imploring. In it, Beatrice apologised for writing to him so suddenly. But said that she was, in her own words, ‘in need to see him’. 

She said she understood it would come as a surprise, and it would probably make no sense, but she asked him to listen. She gave him an address in Santa Maria. She asked him not to ignore her. It was important, she said. 

For the first moment after reading the letter, Oliver wanted to get rid of it without giving it a second thought. 

But there was something, in her urgency, in her begging words, that made him hesitate. Not take action, not yet; but hesitate, before destroying the note, yes. 

“Who was the letter from?” Elio asked that evening, having returned from his day spent looking after little Rose. His hair was tousled, face flushed. Oliver kissed his lips, turned back to the fire. He’d got back from work recently, too, was roasting a leg of deer by the fireplace.

“No one important,” he said only. Without turning back. 

“No one important?” 

Of course Elio was going to be curious. 

“No.” Oliver watched the boy as he took off his jacket, then his shirt. Elio needed to trust him. “The deer will have to roast for another hour or so. Come wash with me?”

It worked in distracting Elio from his questions. Oliver took him into his arms, kissed his mouth again - unlatched his trousers and let them fall to the floor. Walked him to the bath room, while doing the same to himself, and stealing kisses from his young husband’s sweet, sweet mouth the whole time. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver watched Elio sleep that night, in bed next to him. 

The candle by his side was still burning quietly, cast soft shadows on the wall. Made Elio’s skin glow, made the freckles on his cheekbones and nose more evident. He was naked, as they usually slept, the bedsheet just barely covering his waist as he lay on his belly. 

Oliver watched him, and sighed. 

That letter had been on his mind the whole day. Ever since Elio had given it to him. 

He’d thought about it. And thought about it. Thought about it while he made love to his young, beautiful, perfect husband. It wasn’t right that such a thing would occupy his thoughts so much, especially as it brought a nagging feeling with it, a sense that something was wrong, something he needed to face, something he couldn’t hide from. 

It wasn’t right. And so, he needed to face it - whatever it was. 

He got up from the bed, gently, careful not to wake Elio, making Rufus raise an ear and grumble softly from his spot on the bed. 

He walked down the stairs and to the kitchen. Poured himself half a glass of rum. It was going to help him sleep. 

Whatever it was, and whatever the reason for the letter, or for that nagging thought in his mind, he was going to have to figure it out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter to bring the plot forward and not leave you hanging (too much!) because I’ve been so busy! 
> 
> Keep leaving me comments! They are what keeps me going... 
> 
> Much love <3


	71. Santa Maria

The thought nagged at Oliver’s mind for a whole day. He wasn’t just thinking about what was in the letter; but also, about what to tell Elio. 

And especially because there wasn’t anything to tell, right now. And whatever he told him, Elio was only going to worry. 

So the day after, Oliver woke up. Went to work. Thought and thought. 

He could just forget about the letter. It could just be something unimportant, something irrelevant. People did strange things, sometimes, people were impulsive. Perhaps nothing was happening, perhaps nothing was wrong. Perhaps there was nothing for Oliver to take care of. 

But what if? What if this was something that he shouldn’t ignore. Whatever it was. Oliver had stopped running away from whatever life threw at him, when he’d left the gang. No - when he met Elio. 

Elio, the person he loved. The boy who had been eyeing him now, for the past couple of hours after he returned from work, observing him quietly, as they tidied up the main room after their dinner of vegetable soup. 

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

Elio’s voice was soft, and the boy just looked at him. Eyes big, and innocent. 

Oliver held his gaze for a moment, and then lowered his eyes. Sighed. 

“Come here a moment,” he asked. Sitting down on the sofa, patting the cushion with a hand. Elio frowned, but obeyed, walked to him, and sat down as he was asked. 

“That letter I got yesterday,” Oliver started, with another sigh. He didn’t know, honestly, what he was going to say. He didn’t know what this was going to bring. 

He just knew he needed to tell him. 

Elio nodded. 

“That was from someone - someone I knew, years ago.” Oliver hesitated. “Her name is Beatrice. We were together, for a short time. Years ago, before I met you.”

Elio still frowned. Nodded again. “Why is she writing to you?” he asked, his voice careful. 

Oliver shook his head. 

“She said she needs to see me. I don’t know why. She asked me to go and visit her. She lives in Santa Maria.”

Elio swallowed. 

And Oliver felt for him. He knew that Elio shared the same confusion that he did, even though he didn’t know Beatrice. Didn’t know details of his past with her. Had even less elements to try and piece together a possible explanation. 

Aside from assumptions, they didn’t have anything to go with. 

“Are you going to go and see her.”

Elio’s voice was quiet, still.  Oliver looked at him. 

“I was thinking, yes. That I would. To see what she wants.”

Elio nodded, once again. Calmly, his face betraying no emotion. He took a breath, and then stood. 

“I’m very tired. I’m going to bed,” he said only. 

And as Oliver blinked, and nodded back, he’d already turned to walk to the stairs. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver finished tidying up, settled the animals for the night, and then climbed the stairs to their bedroom. It was dark in there, and he could just about make out Elio’s silhouette on the bed, covered by their wool blanket. 

Oliver walked to the bed, sat on the edge of it. Reached out to smooth a curl back from Elio’s temple. 

The boy had his eyes closed, but Oliver knew he was only pretending to be already asleep. 

“You know. I only saw Beatrice twice. Maybe three times. In secret, of course,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “I don’t know what I was thinking, but I didn’t have any feelings for her. She liked me, yes, but... hell, I don’t know. I’ve never been great at reading this kind of - emotions. I guess.” He stroked another thick strand of hair behind Elio’s ear. “I never loved her, though.”

Elio’s eyelashes fluttered. He opened his eyes, looked up at Oliver. 

“I love you,” the older man continued. “I know I don’t need to keep saying it, but - it’s true. And I don’t want anyone else.”

It made Elio smile. 

“I mean, you can definitely repeat it as many times as you want. I won’t complain.”

“Okay,” Oliver chuckled. Elio was smiling; Oliver was relieved. “I love you. I love you.”

He leaned down and kissed the boy’s mouth, gently. 

Elio watched him, as Oliver undressed, and joined him in bed for the night. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Santa Maria was exactly as he remembered, even though Oliver hadn’t been there for years. 

The house at the address Beatrice had given him was a two storey, well kept, respectable-looking building. 

Oliver set his jaw. Walked to the entrance. Hoping that there was indeed someone at home; he hadn’t responded to the letter, choosing to cut on further waiting time. 

“Oh! Oliver.”

Beatrice was there, indeed, and recognised him instantly. 

“Oh, Oliver. You’re here. Thank you so much.”

Oliver let her hug him briefly. 

She definitely looked different from the twenty-two year old girl he once knew. She looked thinner. Her black hair was longer; she had dark circles around her eyes. 

“I know my letter was so sudden. Out of the blue,” the woman babbled anxiously. “But if you have some time, I wanted - I need to speak to you about something.”

Oliver nodded, and let her lead him inside the house. They walked through a hallway, and then to the main room. The house was well-kept; elegant. The fire crackled warmly in the fireplace. 

Beatrice asked him to sit at the table, offered him tea. 

“So. Tell me, what’s going on?” Oliver asked her. It felt weird to be so direct, so colloquial with her. They hadn’t spoken in years. They had shared so very little. 

Beatrice swallowed. 

“Yeah. So. It’s to do with - with my husband. Carlos.” She hesitated, at the look of recognition on Oliver’s face. 

“You married Carlos?” 

“Yes. Four years ago, on Christmas Day.” Beatrice supplied. Oliver had known Carlos. He’d been a budding doctor, at the time, a bachelor all the girls in town had wanted to marry. He came from a good family. He was well known to everyone, in and around town. 

He’d been well known to the gang, for obvious reasons; there had been ‘encounters’, so to speak. 

Oliver sighed. 

“Where is he, now?” he asked, nodding around to the room as if Carlos could come out from somewhere. 

“This is why I asked you here.” And Beatrice’s eyes welled up. “He’s disappeared. I haven’t seen him in days. Nearly a month, next week.” She was crying, now. “You need to help me, Oliver. You’re the only one who can.”

“What about the sheriff?” Oliver knit his eyebrows. 

“He won’t help. He said Carlos has been seen in Fort Smith...that he’s not dead. So he won’t do anything.”

“If he’s been seen there, why don’t you go and look for him?” 

Beatrice brushed tears from her eyes. 

“I can’t,” she said, in a sob. “I have to stay here, with my child.”

She nodded, in response to Oliver’s wide eyed look. 

“I have a child, yes. A daughter.” She started crying in earnest again. “I don’t have anyone else, Oliver. We are alone! Carlos left us with nothing. And I don’t even know if he’s alive! The money’s running out, and I don’t know what to do.”

Crying, and crying, her face red in the cheeks - Oliver had never seen her in that state. But then she hadn’t been alone, back when he knew her. She had her grandmother with her; she must have passed away, now. 

“Mommy?”

A tiny voice came from the door. Oliver looked over, at where a little girl stood, clutching a tattered doll. She had long, blond hair; she was rubbing one eye with a small hand - she’d probably been asleep. 

“Sophia, honey,” Beatrice wiped more tears from her face and walked to the child. “Go back to your room. Everything’s fine.”

The girl looked up at her mother. Then at Oliver. Furrowing her eyebrows, looking sleepy, still. Distressed. Scared. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Oliver sighed again. 

He just couldn’t say no. He just couldn’t. 

“Oh, thank you!” Beatrice’s expression relaxed into a smile. “Thank you. Thank you, Oliver.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you sure you don’t need to rest? Stay over for the night? We have a guest room, here. You’d be welcome to use it,” Beatrice said, as she walked Oliver to the door a few minutes later. Sophia was back in her room. Beatrice’s voice was still trembling, her hands still shacking, but she seemed a little more upbeat. 

“No. Thank you. I have someone I need to go back to for the night.”

Beatrice nodded. Tangled her fingers together, as Oliver walked through the open door.

“The names you gave me; I’ll go and speak to them tomorrow. If they’ve seen him, hopefully they’ll be of help. I will let you know if I find anything,” Oliver said. But there was something else he wanted to ask, before he left. 

He turned around, looked at the woman. 

“How did you know where to find me?”

Beatrice sniffed though her nose. 

“The sheriff told Carlos Albert’s gang was no more. I knew - I knew you’d be back in this state. You told me, back then. That you’d end up back here.” She sobbed quietly. “I knew you wouldn’t be far from Santa Maria.”

Oliver nodded. 

“Look after yourself.”

He waved a hand towards the door, as he walked away to Arthur, to travel back home, hoping to be there before sundown. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments give me life. Xx


	72. Let me help you

__Elio lay in bed, on his side. Behind him, Oliver held him, Elio’s back against his chest. The night was quiet; Elio was not sure what time it was.

Oliver’s hand, large and warm, pressed gently on his stomach. It made the whole of Elio’s body tingle; he felt Oliver’s fingers as they skimmed his groin, and it was the only thing his brain wanted to focus on. He sighed, squeezing his hand into a fist. He wanted Oliver to make love to him; his whole body was buzzing for his husband. 

But he knew that Oliver was preoccupied, not in the right frame of mind right now. 

Oliver had returned that day, and told him about his encounter with with Beatrice, and that she’d asked him to help. Oliver had been distracted for the whole evening, his eyebrows knit in thought, certainly pondering the best way to investigate Carlos’s disappearance. 

Elio found himself frowning, too. Gently, he turned to lie on his back. 

“How come you want to help this lady so much?” 

His voice was calm, and he was looking at the ceiling, knowing that Oliver wasn’t asleep, either. Oliver raised his head a little, and Elio realised how his question might sound. 

“I mean. Maybe her husband left her. Maybe nothing’s happened to him, he just doesn’t want to be with her anymore and this is the only way he thought he could do that.”

He turned towards his lover, waited for his answer. 

Oliver sighed. 

“It’s because of that little girl. Her daughter. Beatrice is just - she never did anything by herself. She panics, she isn’t used to... she’s always lived a very sheltered life, everybody in town knew that.” He turned to lay on his back too, looking at the ceiling. “I need to do what I can to make sure the kid doesn’t lose her father.”

Still looking at him, Elio bit his lower lip; and then nodded. 

He’d been thinking of something. And his heart beat a little faster, as he got ready to ask Oliver. 

“Then, how about,” he started, pulled himself up to sitting on the bed. “How about you let me go and ask the people who saw him? Let me help.”

Oliver frowned deeper. 

“What?”

“We can go to Fort Smith and I can ask after Carlos. They don’t know me, and I can just find out and then tell you.”

Oliver pulled himself up to sitting, too. 

“Elio, this is not a game.”

“I know it’s not a game,” Elio continued. “But if you ask yourself, they might - you said the gang and Carlos had history. Who knows, maybe they know you, they know you were in the gang, and they might, I don’t know. Report you, or something.”

He’d raised his voice a little, a consequence of his worry and his desire to help. He held Oliver’s gaze, stubbornly. 

“Let me do this. You know I can. You know it’s best.”

He still held Oliver’s gaze, as the older man said nothing for one long minute. Elio waited. And then Oliver sighed again, shook his head. 

“Elio, I -“

“Let me help you.” 

Elio reached out, covered Oliver’s hand with his. His voice was soft, pleading, but confident. He knew he could do this, and should. 

He didn’t look away until he saw Oliver nod. And then he reached out, kissed him on the mouth. Gently nudged him to lie back down, on the bed, with him. Kissed him again. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If they were to do this, there was no time to lose.

Lady pulling the wagon, they travelled to Fort Smith early in the morning; first stop, the barber. 

Beatrice had given Oliver his name as one of the people who knew Carlos and who’d said they’d seen him recently. Elio felt Oliver’s gaze on his back, as he walked to the entrance to the shop, not faltering for one moment. 

“How can I help you, lad?” the barber greeted. Elio recognised his accent, it was British. Like many of his parents’ friends. 

The man was tall, lanky; had a moustache. He was shaving another man’s beard, and they both looked at Elio quizzically. Elio supposed they’d never seen a boy his age, who didn’t really have a beard to shave, in there before. 

“I’m looking for someone and I wondered if you could help,” Elio said. “Carlos Gomez, the doctor, from Santa Maria.”

“Ah,” the barber’s customer’s laughter boomed. “What’s he done now? Has he killed someone else?”

Elio frowned. “N-no, I mean, I don’t know. That’s not why I’m looking for him.”

“I saw him a few weeks ago laddie, but that was right after all the kerfuffle that happened. I expect he’s gone now. He said he wanted to leave town,” the barber spoke, his eyes never leaving Elio. “And so he should! He’s a disgrace, that man.”

Elio nodded, to show he understood. 

“Okay, thank you. But you don’t know where he could have gone, sir?”

“Who the hell knows!” the customer interjected again. “He better not come back, is what I say.”

They weren’t going to say any more, Elio knew as much. He nodded again, and left. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Next, they visited the blacksmith - the other person who’d seen Carlos last. 

“He left two weeks ago,” the man didn’t stop working as he spoke. “I fixed his wagon. He said he was going to Westcliffe. It’s a small place, you’ll find him, kid - but if he owes you money, I wouldn’t be too hopeful!”

“It’s two hours from here,” Oliver said when Elio told him the news. “Come on. I’ll take you home, and then I’ll go.”

“No!” Elio stood by Lady, didn’t move to get on the wagon. “No, let me go with you. Please. I want to help.” 

When Oliver hesitated, Elio continued. 

“And it’s on the way. If you take me home now it’ll take you double the time.”

And Oliver did not react, only looked at him, with a sigh. So Elio smiled, and jumped on the wagon next to him. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Had he stayed home, Elio would have been worried out of his skin for Oliver. 

Instead, this way, he felt useful. He felt like he was protecting him, in his own, small way. Oliver did it every day, always, for him - and Elio really did want to reciprocate. He might be smaller than Oliver, less capable to fight, not as strong. But when it came to his husband, and to his husband’s safety, he could be as savage as a wild wolf. And he was proud of it. 

It didn’t matter that, the first thing that Oliver said once they arrived in Westcliffe was that he was going to speak to Carlos if they found him, and that Elio was to wait for him. 

Elio didn’t protest. Oliver needed to do this - Oliver was the one who knew that man. 

“Where do you think he is?” Elio asked, looking around, at the houses and shops lining the streets they were riding through. Westcliffe was really a small town, a few buildings all clustered around one road. 

“I really don’t think he’s working, if what those people said is true. We should ask at the saloon. If he’s still here, and alive, they will have seen him there. Not many other places to go.”

Elio looked ahead, at the road, quiet. Westcliffe wasn’t a very lively town at all. 

“Do you think it’s true? What they said?” He swallowed. “That he killed someone?”

“I guess we will need to find out.” 

Oliver stopped the wagon in front of the saloon. There was no one stood outside; Elio could bet the place itself was half-empty.

“Come on. Let’s go in, and find this fool,” Oliver said, with yet another sigh. He got off the wagon; and when Elio did the same, Oliver reached for his hand. Held it, leading him to the entrance, and only let him go when he opened the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be up soon! :) x


	73. Responsibility

The bored saloon clerk gave them Carlos’s whereabouts without much fuss, and that was lucky, because Oliver really didn’t feel like running around that deserted town looking for someone who, as he felt now with more and more certainty, didn’t want to be found. 

As it happened, and not surprisingly, Carlos was staying at the saloon. The clerk had told them he seemed to spend a lot of time in his room; the rare times he’d come down to the bar, he’d looked disgruntled, miserable. 

“I’ll go upstairs. I want to hope our luck continues and he’s holed up in there. I’ll try and speak to him. You stay here.”

Elio shook his head. 

“I think I should come up with you. You can speak to him - I’ll wait outside the door. This way, if he’s weird, and if you need any help - you can just shout for me and I’ll call someone.”

His green eyes were steely, determined. Oliver smiled. 

“You’d make a fine gang leader, my love,” he murmured, reaching out with a hand to stroke Elio’s cheek. “Much better than Albert certainly was.”

Elio chuckled, “It doesn’t take much.” He kissed Oliver’s wrist, as the older man laughed quietly in response. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

Oliver tried to knock on the door. Once, twice; but there was no response. He called out to Carlos. 

“I’m busy,” the man’s voice came, gruff, from inside. 

And Oliver rolled his eyes; turned the door handle, and walked in. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“O-Oliver.” Carlos took a step back as soon as he turned and saw who his visitor was. Oliver stepped towards him. 

“Oh, you do remember me. I’m impressed.” 

The room was messy, in disarray. There were papers on the floor. The bed was unmade. A half-empty bottle of rum sat miserably on the floor. 

Carlos just stood, blinking in something akin to shock. 

“What- what do you want? I don’t - I don’t have anything.”

Oliver shook his head. 

“I’m not here for money. The gang is no more,” he explained. And then, for good measure: “And Albert was the one tailing you. Just for the record.”

“You have some guts to speak.” Carlos pointed to him, took another step back. Oliver wasn’t completely sure that the man was actually sober at all. 

“Albert gave the orders, and you scumbags did what he said. Didn’t see you putting up a fight when he took everything my mother had in the house. She never recovered.”

Oliver took a breath. Set his teeth. 

He didn’t like to be reminded of his days in the gang, of course. The earlier days- when he didn’t question anything. 

“The gang is no more,” he repeated. “And I’m not here to harm you.”

Carlos looked at him, frowned. “I’m not sure I will like it once I hear the real reason you’re here, anyway,” he said, looking saddened.

“Carlos.” Oliver took another step towards him. “Beatrice needs you. She only wants to know that you’re safe - that you’ll be back. You’re her husband, and you’ve disappeared without a word.”

He watched, as Carlos ran a hand through his hair, dejectedly. He walked to the bed, sat on the edge, his palms on his knees. Stared at the floor. 

“I can’t go back.”

“Why not?”

Carlos still didn’t look up. 

“It’s a long story. I just can’t.”

Oliver hardened his eyes. “She’s your wife. She at least needs an explanation.”

“There’s no explanation I can give!” Carlos stood again, tossed his hands in the air dramatically. “I was an acclaimed doctor, that’s the person she married, and then - and then I made a mistake, someone died under my care, the whole town blames me and despises me. I haven’t been able to work for months. I have no money. She doesn’t see this, she doesn’t want to understand. My whole reputation is shattered, my life is destroyed. I’m no good for her.”

Oliver frowned. 

“Does she know about all this?”

“Of course she does!” Carlos raised his voice again. “But you know her, she’s never worked before! She doesn’t know what it’s like. She has no idea.” He looked back down; his voice meeker, when he spoke again. “My work was my life. Now look at me. A drunk, jobless, homeless idiot.”

Oliver shook his head. But, truthfully, he wasn’t sure what to say. 

He’d never known Carlos well. He’d known him when they were younger. Carlos has been bright and studious. He was set for a lucrative career. 

But Oliver had never, of course, been his friend. Their lives were on very different paths. 

Oliver hadn’t been there, when the gang robbed Carlos’s home, years ago, taken his mother’s money - but he hadn’t tried to stop them, either. 

“You have a daughter. She’s young, she needs you. She needs her father. You can’t leave her.”

It was his last resort, the last thing he could try. 

And so he was surprised when Carlos laughed bitterly. 

“My daughter, huh?” he looked up at Oliver again, shook his head once more. “As it happens, I am really a failure of a man on every respect.” When Oliver stared at him, questioningly, he continued. “I can’t father children, Oliver. I guess since we’re here, since it came to this. I can’t. I am no man at all. Being a doctor, I know how these things work.”

Oliver looked at him still, eyes wide. 

“What?”

“I can’t believe I’m telling you this. You, of all people.” 

Carlos turned around, looked outside the window. Then walked to the bottle, took another swing from it, while Oliver stood, speechless, for a long minute. 

“So you’re not the kid’s father?” he asked, feeling stupid for doing so. And Carlos’s condescending expression seemed to mirror his feelings. 

“No. No, I am not the kid’s father.”

“You should still not leave Beatrice. You should still try to - talk to her, she’s your wife,” Oliver almost mumbled, after, hoping he did so loud enough for Carlos to hear. 

“You’re not going to leave until you get the answer you want, are you?” Carlos sounded defeated, too. “I can’t go back, even if I wanted to. My horse’s gone, it died a week ago. I have no money to replace it.”

“I can take you back. I came with my wagon.” 

Oliver raised his eyes, looked at Carlos. He wasn’t gong to let him distract him from what he came here to do, from what he promised Beatrice. Even though what he’d just heard from him was ricocheting in his mind, making his heart beat in shock. 

There was silence. And then Carlos, scowling, his mouth rigid, sighed. 

“Can you give me a day to sort out some things? I can go back tomorrow. If I have to.”

Oliver nodded. Relieved. He couldn’t wait to get out of there. 

“I’ll come back tomorrow morning. And don’t try and hide in this town, I will find you.”

He waited until Carlos nodded back, and left, as the man took another swing from his bottle. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“We can stay overnight. It’s late now, anyway. The animals will be fine, and you’ve left food out for Rufus.”

Elio looked up at him. Oliver knew that the boy was trying to guess details of his conversation with Carlos from his expression, from his eyes - Oliver had only told him that Carlos was going to go back the next day, but not much more, just yet. 

“We can’t stay here, though. The saloon is full,” Elio said. 

Oliver took his hand, nudged him towards the stairs. 

“Good. I wouldn’t have stayed here anyway, this place is filthy. I think there’san inn a little ahead - we’ll go there.”

They checked Lady into a stable for the night, and then walked to the inn - and Oliver could feel Elio’s energy, as the boy almost skipped his way down the road alongside him. 

“We haven’t spent the night away in so long,” Elio smiled. His hand skimmed Oliver’s as they walked; and, despite the thoughts that kept filling his mind, the need he felt to sit with them and try and make sense of what Carlos had said, Oliver couldn’t help but smile with tenderness.

The road was empty, and so he took Elio’s hand, intertwined their fingers together. Needing their connection. Needing his closeness. 


	74. Night at the inn

The inn had vacancies, and a table downstairs, and Elio wanted to order wine. 

Oliver let him, drank, himself - but mostly watched his young husband as he sipped from his glass while they ate. Elio didn’t usually drink, but he’d said he felt like doing it tonight, felt like having some fun. And so Oliver watched as the boy’s cheeks coloured with the heat of the drink, his smile widened, and he became mellow, affectionate, as the night wore on. 

The inn wasn’t busy, but still, Oliver took Elio back to their room when the boy started rubbing his forehead onto Oliver’s shoulder, looking for physical contact. 

Oliver could tell Elio was in a certain mood. And so he wasn’t surprised when his lover threw his arms around his neck as soon as they entered their room, kissedhim urgently. Moaned at the first touch of Oliver’s fingers on his waist. 

He was breathing hard, and Oliver stroked his hands down his sides and rump until he could hold them on his backside, touching slowly. Elio pulled back just slightly, to lick Oliver’s lips, and then, when Oliver, guided by instinct, by Elio’s scent and the reactions it was arousing in him, kissed Elio’s neck and throat slowly, Elio threw his head back, let it happen, purred softly from deep within his chest. 

“I love it when you kiss me there,” he said, his voice low. 

Oliver made sure to kiss him everywhere - down his throat, and to the side of his neck, down to the delicate skin of his collarbone because he knew his lips on there always made Elio shiver. 

He was still kissing him, licking and sucking on the skin, when Elio started unbuttoning his shirt. 

He was newly urgent, and so Oliver pulled back, used his own hands to start unlatching his trousers, then did the same to Elio. It was a well-practiced exchange, by now, the way the undressed each other. The way Oliver gave Elio two fingers to suck, the way he put them inside the boy’s body, over the sound of both their accelerated, impatient breaths. 

When Oliver pushed inside him, from behind, holding Elio with a hand pressed down on the boy’s abdomen and the other on his chest, he set his teeth and closed his eyes, wanting to growl. 

“So tight,” was the only thing he could breathe out, on the skin of Elio’s nape, where the curls were damp with perspiration . 

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, and then moved again inside Elio. Set his jaw, as Elio’s body gripped him, so hard Oliver thought he could feel the boy’s heartbeat right where they were connected.

Elio cried out at the first thrusts. He was pushing back, giving as much as he got. His hand slid to his abdomen, looking for Oliver’s, fingers twining with the older man’s without lessening his grip. 

“You fuck me so well.” Elio’s voice was so low, so husky. From where he had his lips on the pulse point on the side of Elio’s throat, Oliver blinked his eyes open, listened to him. Elio, warm with alcohol, with desire. Beautiful, young, wanton. 

“Harder. Fuck me harder, baby,” the boy murmured, without moving an inch. Their bodies glued to each other. 

And so, Oliver did. Slid both hands into Elio’s sides, held fast on to his jutting hipbones. Thrust, as hard as he could, holding Elio, making him cry out. Then again, again, again. Harder, harder, until Elio had to bend over forwards and place his hands down on the mattress to support himself. 

The pleasure was blinding, and Oliver was glad of it. He wanted to be with Elio, Elio only. Fucking him like this, forever. With nothing ever changing. 

“I’m so close,” he whispered on the back of the boy’s neck. “Are you?” 

He thrust hard once more, twice more. 

“Just a little longer.” 

Elio was stroking himself, though his hand was trembling. Oliver wrapped his fingers around Elio’s on the boy’s sex, guided him into a few tight strokes. 

His other hand went up, on Elio’s chest, pinched a nipple hard, until the boy cried out again and went rigid, coming on Oliver’s hand, on his own. 

Oliver had to close his eyes not to come, too, right there and then. He didn’t give Elio time to recover, started thrusting again, hard, a dozen more times.

Elio sobbed, full of pleasure, at each thrust; and then, when Oliver was starting to falter, Elio turned to the side, spoke against his mouth. 

“Now. Come, now...”

And Oliver thrust in, made him cry out one last time, then held deep inside him as he came. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He was already awake, early in the morning the next day, when Elio woke up. 

Laying on his belly next to him, he raised his head, blinked sleepy eyes at him. 

“You’re already up,” he murmured, pushing up to roll on his back, to look up at Oliver, sat up in bed. 

Oliver sighed, shrugged. 

“We need to go soon.”

He could still feel Elio’s eyes on him, could feel the boy’s frown.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Elio asked, rubbed one eye, a further attempt at waking up. “You’ve been. I don’t know. Quiet.” 

“Nah, I’m fine,” Oliver shrugged again. He leaned down, kissed Elio’s lips quickly. 

Damn, Elio way way too perceptive. 

He decided to try changing the subject. 

“Tell me how you’re feeling, instead? We had a lot of wine yesterday.”

Elio looked at him for a long moment; then closed his eyes, his cheeks pinching into a small smile as he evidently took stock of the situation. 

“I feel a little sore,” he admitted, rubbed his other eye with the back of his hand. “My head, and - and my ass,” he concluded with a shy chuckle. 

Oliver chuckled as well. “Cheeky.” He leant over again, kissed Elio on the mouth once more. “You wanted it. I hope you’re not regretting it now.” 

He spoke on Elio’s mouth, kept his voice low and husky, and watched as the boy’s eyelids drooped, his lips stretching into a small smile. 

“No regrets whatsoever.” Elio’s voice was just as low and raspy; and he let Oliver kiss him again, once, twice, three times; the languid mood from the night before still lingering between them as they slowly came back to real life. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Let’s hope Carlos doesn’t plan on stalling again. I’ve had enough of chasing after him,” Oliver said, later, as they walked back into the saloon together. 

As soon as they’d left their little alcove at the inn, nervousness had crept back into his body - thoughts of what was happening, what Carlos had told him, back into his mind to torment him. 

Oliver just wanted this over and done with. He didn’t know what would come after; for the moment, he would be solving one problem at the time. 

Once they were both outside Carlos’s door, Oliver knocked and called for him. There was no response. 

“I bet this fool is still asleep,” Oliver huffed, and reached to turn the doorknob. 

As soon as he stepped into the room, what he saw chilled him to the bone. 

“Elio. Don’t come in here.”

The boy frowned. 

“Don’t come in here,” Oliver repeated, “go downstairs and call the owner. Now.”

“What happened-“ Elio knit his eyebrows in confusion. 

“I said go, now! Do as I say!” Oliver repeated, his voice loud. 

And Elio swallowed, and stepped back, disappearing down the stairs without another sound. 

Oliver turned back. Slowly, bringing his eyes on the scene in front of him. 

Carlos. A piece of fabric around his neck; hanging from the wooden ceiling, his body cold, rigid. 

Lifeless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep leaving me comments! They’re honestly what keeps me going. 
> 
> Thank you xx


	75. Why did he do this

Oliver sat on a bench, downstairs in the saloon. The glass of whisky in front of him was almost empty; he ran a hand through his hair, his eyes looking ahead at the bar, unfocused. 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Elio’s voice was soft, calm, as he spoke, sitting next to him. He’d been quiet until then. He’d obeyed Oliver when he told him to wait downstairs, while the sheriff arrived to do his job; he’d waited by Oliver as the older man paced, in silence, until he’d sat down and ordered a drink. He hadn’t asked if Elio wanted anything; his head was somewhere else. 

“Oliver. Please. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Oliver shook his head. Looked away. 

“He was an idiot. He was a goddamn idiot.” 

He set his teeth. He didn’t know what he felt. A mixture of anger and annoyance; of feeling he had been cheated, tricked right in front of his face. Pity lurked somewhere in his mind, too, an attempt of reminding him that Carlos was a troubled man - but mostly he felt annoyance, resentment. 

And worry. Carlos’s words from the night before were certainly etched in his mind. If he couldn’t have children... there weren’t many other options for who the father of that little blonde girl could be. 

“Sometimes - sometimes people don’t know how to cope. When something is too much.” 

Elio’s voice was still soft, it was tentative. Oliver found himself still refusing to look towards him, still rather preferring to frown, and remain quiet. 

And it was after a few long minutes that he spoke again. 

“Get everything ready. I’ll take you back today,” he said, his voice flat. 

“What are you going to do?” Elio asked.

“I’m sure the sheriff has spoken to Beatrice by now. I just need - I want to check that she’s - fine.” 

He could hear the guilt in his own voice, and he was sure Elio could hear it too. He’d made Beatrice a promise, said he’d help, and now, what had he done? Nothing. He would come back with his hands empty. Perhaps she would even blame him. 

From the corner of his eye he saw Elio get up from his chair at the table, in silence; and then the boy walked towards the stairs, back to their room to do how he’d been told. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beatrice did not blame Oliver, as it turned out, but she was indeed distraught. 

She was crying, desperately, when Oliver went to see her later that day.

“What am I going to do,” she wailed. “Why did he do this. Why!”

Oliver didn’t have an answer for her, of course. All he could do was look around, wonder where little Sophia was, worried about her witnessing her mother’s meltdown. 

“I can’t even go to the funeral, Oliver. I can’t leave Sophia on her own. Lord, this is a disaster!”

“Don’t you have anyone who can try and help?” 

Beatrice covered her face with her hands. Her nose and cheeks were red from crying. 

“Carlos’s family hates me. They didn’t want him to marry me,” she sobbed, “they don’t care about me, they don’t care about my daughter.”

Oliver sighed. He wished he could do something to make her stop crying. 

“You’ll find a way,” he offered - and was well aware that it was most unhelpful answer that Beatrice could have received. She covered her face with her hands, sobbed again. 

“I can’t even go to his funeral!”

“Listen. I know someone who could look after Sophia, while we go to the funeral.” 

Beatrice quietened for a moment, wiped her cheeks of some of her tears. She breathed, once, twice - temporarily relieved.

Oliver bit his lower lip. He’d just offered Elio’s help without having even checked with the boy first; he hoped it would be all right. 

“And - there is something else I need to talk to you about.” His voice became low, serious. Suddenly, he felt newly tense.

Beatrice looked up at him again, her eyes red-rimmed. 

“Carlos told me something. When I spoke to him. Something - about Sophia.” He watched as Beatrice covered her face with a hand again; hoped she wouldn’t start to cry anew.

“The sheriff said he had a letter in his pocket,” Oliver continued, and Beatrice nodded. “Where he said the same thing. That he’s not Sophia’s father. I need to know. Is that true?”

There was a moment of silence; and then Beatrice sighed. Looked down. 

“I didn’t mean to - I didn’t mean to deceive him. To deceive anyone. But I knew I was - with child, I knew I had to get married. I didn’t know he couldn’t - how could I have known?” Her voice raised again in that pitiful pitch. 

Oliver sighed too.He hesitated. 

“Is Sophia - mine?”

Beatrice covered her face with both hands, now. 

Oliver didn’t let it go. 

“When was she born?” 

“In August,” Beatrice sobbed. “Three years ago.” She kept her face hidden behind her hands; a broken woman, by all means. 

Oliver sighed again, looked away. His heart beating faster. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rufus slept curled up on the couch, snoring softly. His face, that of a little fox, looked as content as ever to be snoozing in the warmth of the house. 

By the stove, Elio stirred the food he was cooking in the pot. His cheeks were reddened with the steam; he furrowed his brow, fully focused on his task. 

“I’m sorry for offering your help without asking you.” Oliver spoke softly, padded closer to his husband. “I appreciate you doing this.” 

Elio didn’t turn around, his eyes still clamped on his cooking. 

“It’s fine. It’s not a problem. I’ve looked after Rosie so many times know, I know a thing or two about kids.”

Oliver sighed. Walked closer. He wanted to touch Elio - he needed the contact. And so he reached out, gently stroked his fingers through the curls at Elio’s nape. 

He wondered when would it be a good time to tell him - what he knew. What he’d discovered. If there was ever a good time to tell him; he didn’t know. 

“Elio, baby. Listen. The reason I think - the reason I want to help Beatrice is, it’s because-“

Elio turned around then, looked up into Oliver’s eyes, his own wide and limpid-and Oliver went quiet. 

“Let’s just have some food. Supper is almost ready. And I’m sure you’re really hungry.” He stepped on tip toes to kiss Oliver on the lips; a light, but lingering kiss. “Let’s talk about this later. Is that okay?”

Oliver looked into the boy’s eyes for a long moment. He’d give anything to know what Elio was thinking, but it seemed his young husband wasn’t ready to share right now. 

And frankly, Oliver was exhausted. If Elio wanted to postpone any heart to heart to later on, then, Oliver was not going to complain. 

“Sure,” he nodded. And Elio smiled, briefly, stepped up again to give him another peck on the lips, before turning back to his work on the stove, the steam from the pot colouring his cheeks again. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve read until here, please leave me a comment. Comments are what keeps me writing this story.   
> Thank you! X


	76. The fairy and the goose

Sophia was a quiet, shy kid, so very different than Rosie, who, instead, was a little earthquake of a child. 

Sophia was shy but after a while, Elio managed to break through to her. 

She liked stories, she liked being read to. 

And so, after dinner, they sat together on the sofa in Beatrice’s house, Elio reading a fairytale story, Sophia turning the pages of the book one by one, smiling more and more each time. 

And finally, just after sundown, Sophia nodded off. In her little day dress that made her look like a miniature princess, with tiny bows keeping her blonde hair out of her eyes. She’d wanted Elio to re-read the story of the fairy and the goose three times, and she’d fallen asleep halfway through the third go. Gently, carefully, Elio picked her up, and carried her to her bedroom. He hoped her mother would understand. 

Later, reading alone in the living room while he waited for Beatrice and Oliver to return, Elio thought. 

He thought how he’d enjoyed looking after Sophia. She was shy and he’d felt for her, felt protective towards her. She had a distraught mother who seemed to be falling apart right now; Elio wondered how her life was before, before Carlos decided to leave. Elio’d always had parents who were present in his life, though not overwhelmingly so, present in the right way, united, a team. He couldn’t imagine how it had been for Oliver, and he couldn’t imagine how it had been for Sophia until now. With Carlos willing to kill himself and leave her fatherless, leave her mother crumbling without him. 

He would have probably nodded off in any other circumstance - Beatrice’s house was comfortable and warm, the fire was crackling in the fireplace; the sofa cushions were soft, expensive - but now, his thoughts kept him alert. 

And so, he heard the screech of Oliver’s wagon as it slowed to a stop on the gravel in front of the house. Elio put the book away on the coffee table and stood, just in time to see Beatrice coming in, followed by Oliver. She looked tired and aggravated. 

“Sophia’s in her bed. She fell asleep while I was reading her a story,” Elio offered, wanting Beatrice to know that everything was well with her daughter. But Beatrice only sat down at the table, ran a hand over her face with a sigh. 

“Thank you, Elio,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Today was awful.” 

Elio looked to Oliver, who stood by the entrance to the room, in silence. 

“Sophia is a great kid,” Elio tried, just something to make Beatrice feel better, maybe. 

He’d only met her that day, but she’d seemed so upset, so broken, he wasn’t sure he’d met the real person or just the hopeless, desperate version of it she’d become. 

“We should go,” Oliver murmured, beckoning for Elio to stand. Then he looked to Beatrice. “Let me know how it goes, tomorrow.”

She raised her face from her hands. 

“I think I’ll need your help again. Elio,” she turned to him, her brown eyes pleading. “Would you be kind and come look after Sophia tomorrow, while I go to the bank? I have to sort out Carlos’s accounts. I don’t even know - I don’t know a thing about them, but - but I have to do it.”

Elio turned to Oliver again, his eyes wide. 

“Please, Elio. You’ve been so great today. So helpful.”

Beatrice’s voice verged towards a wail once again, and Elio turned his eyes on her then, bit his lower lip. “Yes, I’d love to help,” he said. Sincerely. 

“Oh. Thank God.” Beatrice looked up at him, her eyes red. “Thank God.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The ride home had been quiet, both Oliver and Elio exhausted, for different reasons. 

And yet Elio knew Oliver had something to say. 

“You know. You don’t have to do that. Look after Sophia again.” Oliver said. His voice quiet, but firm. “Don’t feel like you have to.”

Elio frowned, looked up at him. 

“I don’t feel like I have to. I don’t mind.”

He kept his eyes on his husband, but, for a moment, Oliver only nodded. When he cleared his throat, and reached for the bottle of whisky on the kitchen table, Elio knew there was going to be more.

And that he knew what Oliver was about to say. 

“She’s - Sophia, she. She’s mine. My daughter.”

His voice was low, careful, his eyes looking up at Elio, somehow, even though he was so much taller than him. It was like he was scared of the reaction his confession was going to be met with. 

But Elio - Elio already knew. 

He kept his eyes on Oliver’s, made himself take a deep breath.

He knew, he’d known, since when this whole thing started, he’d had a feeling since this former lover of Oliver’s had gotten in touch - but of course, hearing it confirmed from his husband’s own mouth was bound to come together with some remnants of shock. 

He nodded. 

“She looks like you.”

Oliver looked at him, then rubbed a hand on his face, drank some of the whisky from his glass. And Elio felt something - something like pity. 

Oliver seemed so worried; Elio wanted to hug him. Reassure him. That - Sophia’s existence - didn’t change anything in their relationship. That, in fact, Elio was happy that she existed. He’d asked for a child, for a way for them to have a child, because of course they couldn’t, not naturally, not on their own, even though Elio would have wanted that more than anything else. He envied Beatrice for what she could do, for what she could give Oliver that he couldn’t.

He pushed up from the table he was leaning back on and took a couple of steps towards his husband. Put his arms around his neck, gently; nuzzled his nose on Oliver’s cheek, rubbed it against Oliver’s nose. 

Oliver’s hands didn’t move, his right one still wrapped around his whisky glass, but the older man took a breath. 

“I love you,” Elio spoke, against Oliver’s lips, and his voice was low, warm. 

He kissed him, and Oliver’s lips tasted sharply, tangy, of whisky. 

“I love you. This doesn’t change anything. You know that, right?”

He looked up into Oliver’s eyes, into the expression of veiled surprise he found there. He kissed him again, hoping to convince him that he was speaking the truth. Because he was. 

It didn’t change anything. Sophia existed, Sophia was Oliver’s, Sophia could be part of their lives. 

Elio wished he could give Oliver a child, but he couldn’t, and so, this was the next best thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know updates have slowed down, but I have been so busy these past couple of weeks, I have been trying to write whenever I have some free time... 
> 
> I hope you’re still liking this story and still reading. I know there’s been some big changes, but trust me... I think it goes without saying that the story is still just about Elio and Oliver. 
> 
> Thanks for all your support and I hope you will leave me a comment! X


	77. Dream, and consequences

“I’m so happy this happened,” Oliver was saying. His hand stroked over Elio’s belly; the round, swollen curve of it. 

The bump was so big on Elio’s slight frame that the boy just wanted to lie in bed, and do nothing, just be there with his husband next to him, tending to him and praising him for giving him what he wanted. 

“I’m so happy this happened. I never thought we could. You’re perfect.”

Oliver’s words were like warm honey on his skin, and Elio preened, his spine arching in pleasure at Oliver’s compliments and at the warmth of his presence in bed with him. He placed a hand on his own belly. Wished for it to become even bigger, so he could show Oliver how good he was, what he could do. How they didn’t need anyone else. 

When Elio woke up, it was almost a shock. 

It had all seemed so real, what he’d just experienced; he couldn’t believe it was just a dream. 

But here he was, in bed, laying on his back, with Oliver’s hand on his naked, flat abdomen. His husband was asleep, breathing quietly, slowly. 

Elio rubbed his eyes, frowned at himself. Weird, weird dream. 

Carefully, he nudged Oliver’s hand off and stood, wanting to go and freshen up by the bucket. He didn’t feel sleepy anymore; perhaps he would start preparing breakfast, for them and for Rufus. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I think Sophia would like Rufus,” Elio said later, as they finished eating together, ahead of starting their day. “Perhaps I’ll bring her here to meet him.” He stood, placed his plate in the kitchen bucket to soak. 

“We should check if Beatrice agrees to that?”

Oliver’s voice was inquisitive; Elio shrugged. 

“I will ask her. But she’ll be fine.”

He had his back to Oliver, and he didn’t hear a response to him; so he turned around, and reached out with his hand, silently asking him for his plate to wash. 

But Oliver took his hand instead; pulled him gently towards him. “Sit down a moment,” he asked. Frowning a little, Elio did as he was told. 

“Elio, you know... you know that Sophia doesn’t need to come here. And you don’t need to - babysit her, like you do with Rosie.”

Elio’s frown deepened. 

“But Beatrice needs help.”

“She needed help before,” Oliver said. “She has Carlos’s inheritance, now. They are okay, they have some money. I know you want to help, baby, but she has everything she needs, and more. They both do.”

Elio shook his head; confused. 

“She asked me to help. She said she’ll have to go to work, two days a week.”

“She does, but - she’ll be fine, now. They have a nice house, they have money. She can afford a minder for Sophia, if she needs to.”

Elio couldn’t understand. 

It had been four weeks since Carlos died. He’d looked after Sophia many times; Oliver had never said anything. Now, he didn’t want him to help with Sophia - with his daughter? 

He stood from the table, shook his head again. 

“She doesn’t need to find a minder, if I’m around and can help,” he said, his voice firm. “I don’t understand -“

“You don’t have to. She’s not part of your life - of our life. Neither of them are. It was - just for the moment, while we helped with Carlos’s situation.”

Oliver’s words were so stern, so firm, so sudden, it was almost like an outburst. 

He kept his eyes on Elio and Elio stared back, still uncomprehending - but now his heart beat a little faster. 

“What do you mean, she’s not part of our life? She’s - she’s your daughter, Oliver.”

Oliver sighed. “I know that.”

“Then what?” Elio bit his lip, looked away for a moment. Softened his tone - knowing he’d become too confrontational. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I like Sophia. You like her, too. Is there a problem?”

Oliver’s eyes were a dark blue, when he looked into Elio’s eyes again - and it worried him. Oliver looked so serious. Almost - sad, for some reason. 

He sighed again, then stood. 

“No. There is no problem.”

He walked to Elio, cupped his face with a hand, kissed his lips. Then picked up his jacket, and left the house for the day, without any more words. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You’re really good with kids,” Beatrice said, as she pulled her hair back into a braid in front of the mirror. 

Elio looked up from where he was watching Sophia draw on a piece of paper on the floor. 

“I like looking after them,” he said. Then bit his lip, looked back down at the child. “I’d show her how to play the piano at our house, if I could. Or she could meet our dog Rufus, he likes playing and he makes friends with everyone so easily.”

“Oh!” Beatrice clapped her hands together. “What a wonderful idea! Maybe Sophia can stay with you for the two days I’ll be at the post office? So she won’t be alone, and you can teach her the piano, or whatever. Oliver’s her dad, after all.”

She’d gotten way more upbeat and outgoing lately, compared to how she was when Elio had first met her. He still had no idea of what she knew about him and Oliver, about the real nature of their relationship, if she still thought that Elio was just his helper, and nothing else - but she didn’t seem to care, and so Elio didn’t linger on the thought, either. 

“I mean - that would, that would work for me...”

“Lovely! Lovely. It’s settled, then!” 

Beatrice clapped her hands again, smiled at Elio, and then disappeared into her powder room, leaving the boy alone to think. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Oliver said when he arrived to pick up Elio with their wagon about an hour later. “So much work today. Come on, let’s go.”

Elio was holding Sophia in his arms, rocking her as the little girl leant on his shoulder, clutching her doll and almost nodding off. He saw the urgent look in Oliver’s eyes - he was surely really tired. 

“Do you want to say bye to Sophia?” he murmured, stepping towards him. But Oliver held a hand up. 

“She’s falling asleep. Just put her in her bed,” he said, softly, but firmly. “Next time.”

He was definitely, definitely tired. 

Elio nodded again, put Sophia down, very gently and carefully. 

They walked towards the main entrance - just as Beatrice appeared from the kitchen. 

“Oliver! I can’t tell you how helpful Elio has been. It’ll be so good when Sophia stays with you while I’m at work. Thank you!”

Elio felt Oliver’s eyes on him, as they walked out, then. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was raining, outside, the water and the wind making it hard to see or even hear, as they rode home on the wagon. 

Elio was almost grateful, as Oliver’s face back at Beatrice’s home told him he had questions, and Elio didn’t really feel like discussing on the wagon, out in the open. 

“What did Beatrice mean, with what she said?” Oliver asked as soon as they got home, got a chance to remove their rain-soaked jackets. 

Elio spoke quietly, when he replied. 

“She said we could have Sophia with us for the two days that she’s at work. So that she’s not alone. I - I said I wouldn’t mind.”

Oliver froze, his eyes wide. 

“What?”

“It would only be for two days,” Elio frowned at him. “Why are you so against it?”

“I’m not against it, Elio, but I do have a say when it comes to our life and our house and who gets to share it.”

Elio’s eyebrows knitted even tighter. 

“Of course you do, but - but you are against it. I can tell by your reactions, by - by how you are with Sophia.”

Oliver took a breath. Stood, rigid, staring at Elio. 

“How I am with Sophia?”

“Yes,” Elio was breathing hard. “You say you like kids, that you want kids, but then - you don’t ever want to pick her up. You don’t even want to say hi to her. I don’t understand.”

“I do like kids. I do want them. I would want them. If they were ours.”

Elio remained speechless, for a moment. 

“Ours?” He blinked, feeling his eyes wet, and he bit his lower lip hard to stop the tears from coming. They were tears of frustration, of confusion. Of sadness, for Sophia. “Ours? We will never have our own children, Oliver! Nothing will grow in here,” he touched his abdomen, “no matter how many times you come inside me!”

He held his breath, looked away, rubbing a hand on his eyes angrily. Fuck, he was going to regret this. 

Oliver must have been stunned, because he hadn’t responded yet. And so Elio wiped his other eye with the back of his hand, shook his head again. 

“Sophia is your child, Oliver. And - you won’t have children with me. So - so, I don’t know. Maybe think about why you don’t want her near you. Near us.”

He felt his cheeks on fire. His head hurting. He felt tired and ashamed, embarrassed, at the same time. He couldn’t believe he’d gotten into a fight with Oliver, so quickly. He couldn’t believe the things he’d said. He didn’t know how it had happened. 

He was trembling out of exhaustion and frustration, and, when he chanced a fearful look up at his husband and saw that he was just staring at him, not reacting, Elio looked away again. Walked to the stairs, deciding to hide into the bedroom, for a while, hoping to fall asleep, and forget what had just happened. 


	78. Nightmare

When Beatrice opened the door, a couple of days later, her house was rather quiet. 

Oliver stepped inside, frowning. He’d come to pick Elio up, it was already late in the day. And he wasn’t there?

“Where’s Elio?” he asked, his eyes scanning the living room. 

The fire was on, even though it was warm enough outside; there was a plate on the table, a glass of water. Ready for dinner. 

“He and Sophia are at his friend’s. What’s her name? Sadie,” Beatrice replied. “Why?”

“Why is he there?” Oliver asked. He was surprised - Elio hadn’t said anything about going to see Sadie.

Beatrice sighed, then walked to the table, fixed the flowers in the vase, absentmindedly. 

“He said his friend has a child, too. He wanted Sophia to play with her,” she shrugged. “What’s the problem?”

Oliver frowned deeper. 

“He hasn’t said anything. I came here to pick him up, and he’s not here and hasn’t said anything.”

Beatrice turned to look at him. 

“Well, it’s no big deal. You can stay, and wait for him, if you want?”

Oliver sighed. His eyebrows still knit in thought. He was annoyed - annoyed that Elio wasn’t there, annoyed that Elio hadn’t told him about his plan. They hadn’t talked much since their fight a couple of days before, but still. A change of plans was something he expected to be informed about. And - he was with Sophia; he had the responsibility of a child. Even though Beatrice did not seem particularly affected, it still wasn’t on in Oliver’s books. 

And if no one worried about Elio’s whereabouts, then that meant... that meant he was vulnerable. Who knew he was actually where Beatrice had said he was? Who knew he hadn’t been taken? 

“No, no. I have to go.” Oliver turned around to leave; then stopped by the door. “I’ll bring Sophia back.” 

He didn’t wait for Beatrice to respond; he wasn’t sure she even would. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And so when Susan opened the door to hers, Sadie’s and Tilly’s house, Oliver had a sense of deja vu. 

It was the same scene he had just lived with Beatrice, except - except, when he asked about Elio now, he received a less unaffected response. 

“In the other room. With Sophia and the girls,” Susan replied - and frowned, herself, noticed Oliver’s expression instantly. “Heeey, whoa, Mister Oliver. How about you hold on a second.”

Oliver hadn’t even noticed how quickly he’d made to step in the direction of the next room. At Susan’s request, at her hand on his chest, slowing him down, he stopped; unclenched the hands he had wrapped tightly in fists alongside his body. 

“What in the heavens is going on?” Susan shook her head; the perfect, tight bun of her hair not moving an inch. 

“He didn’t tell me he was coming to see you. I didn’t know where he was.”

Susan nodded. 

“But now you do.”

“Susan,” Oliver shook his head. “Let me see Elio. It’s late, we need to go. I need to return the kid to her mother.”

For a moment, he wondered if Susan had even heard him; she stared at him, for a few long seconds, and he held her eyes, until she sighed, and walked towards the door to the next room. 

“Elio, sweetheart? Oliver’s here.”

She stood there, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes on Oliver while they waited for Elio. And when the boy appeared from the room, Oliver looked towards her. 

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “I’m staying right here.”

Oliver set his jaw. He didn’t have time, not right now, to feel annoyed at the implication in Susan’s behaviour. Did she really think he was going to hurt Elio?

He took a breath. Levelled his voice, just in case, even though he had never planned on raising it. 

“I went to pick you up at Beatrice’s house. You weren’t there.”

Elio frowned, too, in response to Oliver’s expression, to the tension emanating from his body. 

“I wanted Sophia to meet Rosie. So they could play together. We were going to take the carriage back in an hour or so.”

That made no sense. Elio knew Oliver was going to give him a lift back. As always. 

Oliver set his jaw again; he felt as if Elio was deliberately trying to provoke him. 

He looked away, took a deep breath - stay calm. Stay calm. 

“Boys, listen. I’m sure Sadie can take the little girl back. Mister Oliver, you seem so tired,” Susan intervened then. Oliver didn’t turn towards her, took another breath. He would never tell Susan to keep quiet.

Susan continued. 

“Elio was - helping us with something. Mister Oliver, I would like the little one to stay here with us for the night, if you agree? So you can go home, rest, be fresh for work tomorrow.” She paused for a moment, but didn’t let him get a word in edgeways, continued with her plea. “Sadie will take Elio back tomorrow and he’ll be home ready for when you’re done with work, waiting for you all gorgeous and sweet as always.”

Oliver bit the inside of his lip. 

He knew what Susan was suggesting. He knew why she was suggesting it. 

Even though she hadn’t said anything outright, even though they hadn’t spoken, he knew she was trying to diffuse the situation. 

He, himself, knew that right now, if he and Elio talked, it would end up in a fight. He felt too tense; too worked up. Possibly, pointlessly. 

Susan’s whole stance, and the expression on her face, silently pointed at how she thought he was overreacting. 

Elio was still standing there, quiet, his lips pursed and his eyebrows knitted. Waiting for Oliver’s decision.

And Oliver looked up at him for a moment; then shook his head minutely, sighed. 

“Fine. Fine. I’ll go home.”

Without any further words, he turned around, and left the house. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver woke, his body tense, his heart beating. 

The sky was still dark outside, which meant it was early, dawn still a few hours away. 

Oliver rubbed a hand on his face, blinked his eyes, trying to get rid of the remnants of the dream he’d just had. The nightmare. 

In the dream, Elio held Sophia in his arms. She looked all but the same as in reality - blonde, wide eyes - except, her hair was curly instead of straight. She clung to Elio, while Beatrice stood in front of them, her face contorted in disgust. 

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “I can’t believe it, Oliver. Is this what you do with this boy? You’re a pervert?”

Oliver would have responded to her but in the dream, he couldn’t; it was like he had no voice. 

“I will tell the police. I will tell everyone. This is wrong. This is wrong!”

Oliver had woken up with a startle. His hands trembling, his head hurting. 

It was just a dream, yet it had affected him so much - and he wasn’t even sure why. 

He turned around in bed, hoping sleep would come back to him soon. His eyes fell on Elio’s side of the bed, empty, cold. 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, willed himself back into oblivion. 


	79. Make it easier

“Can we talk?”

Elio’s voice was quiet, subdued. After not having seen each other since the night before, after Oliver had come back from work mid-afternoon, as it rarely happened, it was as if they weren’t sure how to approach each other, what to say to start speaking to each other again. 

And so Oliver was relieved to see Elio make that first move. 

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded, leant forward with his hands on the wooden table in their kitchen, cleared his throat. Raised his eyes on his young husband. 

“I didn’t mean to - run off, yesterday. I didn’t plan it so that you wouldn’t find us. I’m sorry that it happened, but I didn’t do it on purpose.” Elio spoke slowly, but it seemed like it was in one breath. 

Oliver nodded again. 

“I’m sorry we argued. I didn’t mean to get to that. But you know we have to have - rules, for want of a better word. We need to know where the other is,” he spoke quietly too, holding Elio’s gaze the whole time. The boy’s green eyes were wide, darkened. 

“I know,” Elio said. “But I wanted Sophia to meet Rosie. She doesn’t really see other children - they can be friends.”

Oliver straightened up, ran a hand through his hair. 

“Elio, this - this attachment you have to this kid concerns me.”

He’d still spoken quietly, and he didn’t know if he’d chosen the right words, the right tone - in fact, given the way Elio’s eyes darkened even more, he was sure he’d gotten both terribly wrong. 

“Why?” Elio frowned, stuck his chin out. 

“Because - because I don’t understand it, because she’s not - because she’s not ours, she’s got a mother.”

“I know that. I’m not trying to be her mother,” Elio’s cheeks had gone red, flustered. He was getting agitated. “And how can you not understand it? She’s your daughter. She is yours.”

Oliver set his teeth, felt adrenaline rising within him, willed it down immediately.  
Shit. He didn’t know how to make Elio understand. 

“It’s just happened so quickly, Elio. There’s things to consider, there’s - I can’t just start being - a father, someone’s father. We don’t even know what Beatrice thinks about all this.”

“She wants Sophia to have a father!” Elio’s jaw was rigid, too, and Oliver thought they were both moments away from losing their battle against letting this turn into an argument again. “She knows she’s lucky. To be able to do - what she did. To be able to have children.”

Oliver held Elio’s eyes. Lucky? All that he thought Beatrice felt was anything but lucky - at falling pregnant, at having a child with a man whom she knew hadn’t fathered it, at raising the kid as a sort of alternative plan to the one she’d actually wanted her life to follow. 

“Look, I...” Elio started again; looked down, looked back up - his voice softened. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry. But- Sophia is here to stay. I don’t mind - looking after her.”

Oliver frowned. Took a breath.  
Elio’s eyes were still wide, but softer, now. 

Oliver could not understand. He still couldn’t understand. Yes, they’d talked about children. Yes, he wished they could have their own. But that wasn’t possible, and adoption was the only alternative - but why the rush? Why the stubbornness?

He wanted to say so many things, so many - but he didn’t want to make another mistake, didn’t want to use the wrong tone, the wrong words, he didn’t want another argument.  
He wasn’t good with words. He knew that. 

Before he could say anything else, anyway, there was a knock at the door.  
Elio’s eyes, still wide, still soft, still expectant, looked towards it for a moment, and the boy swallowed, looked apologetic. 

“I - Sorry. That’ll be the kid I’m teaching piano to today. The butcher’s son.”

If Elio had mentioned this to Oliver before, Oliver couldn’t remember. He nodded briefly, in acknowledgment, ran a hand through his hair again. 

Elio walked to the door, opened it, greeted the woman on the other side, and the short red-headed boy she had with him.  
Oliver watched him converse with them; leading the boy to the piano, while his mother chatted excitedly about something or other.  
He sighed again; and walked to the door, deciding to start on the evening work on the ranch. 

 

 

 

He felt tense the whole time, thinking, thinking, ruminating on his conversation with Elio. He felt worried, he felt confused. He felt like he didn’t know how to get through to Elio, what to do to dissolve that haze of misunderstanding that seemed to exist between them.  
He felt like Elio wasn’t even trying. 

There were so many reasons why Oliver didn’t feel such an attachment to Sophia - not just yet.  
She may be his daughter - but this was, still, something fresh, something raw. Something unexpected. It was something Oliver hadn’t thought about, hadn’t planned for their life just yet. She came with so many responsibilities - so many implications. He wouldn’t have thrust it on Elio, so why couldn’t Elio do the same? 

He stopped. Checked himself. Took another breath. 

He shouldn’t keep thinking this way. Elio wasn’t trying to force him into anything. Elio had apologised. 

Perhaps it was a case of needing a compromise, of needing to find a middle-ground. He didn’t know.  
He just knew he needed to rest, to lay in bed, try to stop his mind. Try to sleep. 

He climbed the stairs to their bedroom, got undressed. Stood by the bed for a moment, lost in thought, watching the flame of their bedside candle flicker meekly. 

“Hey.”

Oliver turned at the sound of Elio’s voice, and found him standing not far. His eyes still wide, vulnerable; his curls messy, a soft dark halo around his face. The trembling light from the candle gave his cheeks a soft, rosy shadow. 

Slowly, the boy took the few steps that separated them, reached out to hold Oliver’s hand in one of his. Stepped on tiptoes to kiss him on the mouth. 

Oliver let him do it, let him wrap his arms around his neck, push their chests together as Elio deepened the kiss. Kissed him passively, licking Elio’s tongue back, but his own arms didn’t move from where they were hanging down alongside his body. Soon it was evident what Elio wanted, but Oliver couldn’t. Not tonight. His mind wasn’t there; still tangled in thoughts, and worries.  
He couldn’t. 

“No, Elio,” he ended the kiss then, took Elio’s arms by the wrists and removed them from his shoulders, as gently as he could. “I can’t. Not tonight.”

Elio frowned. Took a step back. 

“You can’t?”

“I’m sorry.” Oliver smiled, but it was tense. “I just - can’t. Let’s just go to sleep.”

The candle light flickered again, as if it was about to die down. Elio’s innocent eyes were wide again, his full lips pursed, like he did when he was distressed. 

“Every time you’re angry you punish me,” he murmured, his voice feeble. “You know I want this, you know I want - you, to be close to you, and you punish me by taking it away.”

Oliver shook his head. 

“Hey, no.” He reached out for Elio, to touch his arm, but the boy took a step back. “I’m not angry. I’m not punishing you.”

“You are.” Elio walked back to the foot of the bed, picked up the night shirt he’d been wearing over his top - Oliver hadn’t even noticed he’d taken it off. “You don’t - you don’t tell me what you really think, but you punish me when I don’t understand.”

“Elio...”

“I’m sorry I was trying to make it easier by - by trying to get to know your daughter, by - by understanding that, that it can happen, and that she needs a father, and that you might want to be one for her. I was - just trying to make it easy for everyone and be a grown up, and- and it was fine for me to have her in my life, in our life. I just wanted to make it easy for you but of course I screwed up. As always.”

He was breathing faster as he spoke. Oliver looked at his eyes - they were still wide, and bright with tears, but he wasn’t crying. 

Oliver didn’t know what to say. 

“I’m going to go sleep downstairs on the couch.” Elio breathed in, ran a hand over his cheek. “Please, let me.”

Oliver didn’t reply. He just looked at Elio, and Elio looked back. Then, clutching his night shirt in his hand, the boy turned, and disappeared through the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! 
> 
> Comments are still what keeps me going. Please, if you are reading, leave me a word. Your feedback makes all the difference. Xx


	80. Light, and darkness

The saloon was noisy and stuffy even that early in the afternoon. 

Oliver clutched his whisky, hunched over one of the tables in the corner, keeping a disinterested eye on the patrons. They seemed all intent in drinking and talking loudly, animatedly, nobody paying attention to him, and that was good. 

That was good. 

Until someone sat next to him, a burly hand patting Oliver’s shoulder, making him look up. Joe, one of the men Oliver sometimes worked with. 

“Oliver!” The man’s voice was loud, but Oliver didn’t even need to look up to know it was him. He only raised his hand in greeting, took another sip of his whisky. “Ah, pal. This doesn’t look good, huh?”

He was referring to Oliver drinking alone at the saloon after a long day of work - and Oliver finally looked up, watched him sit down next to him. 

“Just thinking,” he mumbled. 

“Problems with the missus?” Joe took a drink of his own glass, filled with beer. 

Oliver thought of denying. But then he would be asked what was happening instead - he supposed it would be best to give Joe his answer, in the hope of not being quizzed further. 

He nodded. 

“Yes. Something like that.”

“I can relate. Had so many arguments with my wife when I was married. So when she said she was going to Europe with her folks I just said, you know what, that’s probably best for both of us. Been so good since!”

Oliver took another drink, shook his head, with a half-smile. Maybe they could just talk about Joe, leave Oliver’s life out of the chit-chat. 

“What did you fight about?”

“This and that,” Joe shook his head too, gave a chuckle, as if he were speaking of something so far back in the past that it no longer affected him at all. “Not enough money, not enough stuff. Didn’t like my job. The last big thing was - she wanted children, I didn’t.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“I felt too young for little feckers at the time. But she and her mother - god help us. It was like a mission.” Joe huffed, chuckled again. “When they get obsessed, you won’t get the thought out of their minds again.”

“Ah. I guess -“ Oliver tried to reason. The conversation, now, was affecting him. “I guess you were in two different places in your lives.”

“But that’s why marriages don’t work out, isn’t it?” Joe shrugged. “When people want different things? I know folks don’t get - divorced, shameful and all, but - won’t make you happy, when it’s like that. In the end, my wife left!” He gave another chuckle, finished the last sip of his beer, throwing his head back to catch every last drop. 

Oliver’s face must have looked truly miserable, because Joe patted his shoulder again, stood, pointed to the bar. 

“Gonna get another of these - and one more of yours. You look like you need it.”

He seemed tipsy already, the way he walked - or maybe, that’s how he actually always was. Oliver watched him for a moment, then looked back down, at the table, rubbing a hand down his face. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was dark outside when he finally emerged from the saloon, but Oliver wasn’t sure what time it actually was. He didn’t think he’d been at the place for too long; he walked to the hitching post, unlatched Belle’s reins from it. 

He knew there was a lot of alcohol warming up his veins. But sometimes, alcohol helped make decisions. Alcohol made people braver. Sometimes, it was needed. 

Oliver mounted Belle, and with a kick of his heels, he steered her towards the road. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When the door opened, the glow from inside was such a contrast to the darkness outside that Oliver had to squint his eyes. 

Candles sat on the table, and Beatrice smiled, stepped back to let him enter. 

“Oliver! What a surprise. Come in!”

The house was quiet - Sophia must be asleep. Or perhaps somewhere, playing; doing whatever she did when she was by herself. 

Oliver didn’t know; Oliver was going to change that. 

“I’m here because I need to talk to you,” he said, turning around to face Beatrice once she closed the door behind herself. 

She smiled again, nodded. 

“Sure. Do you want to sit down? I’ll get you some wine. It’s chilly outside.”

Oliver’s mind warned him that’s he’d been drinking for long enough; that he was still drunk. His heart, though, reminded him of what he was there to do; what he was there to speak about. Yes, he needed the wine. 

He took a sip as soon as Beatrice handed him the glass, gave her a small smile in thanks. 

“Listen, I - I know I haven’t been around. Much. I know that Sophia is my daughter, I just didn’t know what to do.”

He watched as Beatrice smiled, softly. He wasn’t sure he was saying things like he’d been preparing them in his head. 

“But listen,” he started again, cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking, and - it’s not all about me, and it’s time I - take this seriously. Take her seriously.”

Beatrice’s smile widened. She gave him a long look. “That’s, that’s great, Oliver,” she murmured, her eyes glinting. 

“So I want to do good by her and be a father. If you’re happy for me to.”

Beatrice took a sip of her own glass of wine, smile still firm on his face. “Oh, Oliver. Of course I’m happy for you to.” She reached out, placed a hand over Oliver’s on the table. “I’d be very happy for you to.”

Oliver closed his eyes. He felt warm, the alcohol in his veins now well and truly travelling everywhere in his body. 

“Good. Good. Then it’s settled.” 

He had his eyes still closed, when he heard the rustling of Beatrice’s frilly dress, as she refilled his glass; held his hand tighter, lent over, loser to him. 

“And perhaps this means we can be - parents to her... together...”

Her voice was low, sultry; in a way that Oliver had never heard it to be before. When he opened his eyes, he saw her face, her mouth, really close to his; her white skin, amber with the glow of the candles. The long eyelashes, the painted mouth. 

He shook his head, pulled back. 

“This is not what I meant.”

“Why not?” Her voice still low, her hand ran along Oliver’s arm, slowly; stroked his shoulder, stopped at his neck. 

Oliver kept his eyes open. Set his jaw.

He was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to this, but he planned to be truthful. 

“Because I have someone, already. Because I’m taken.”

“Mmmh.” Beatrice’s other hand ran up his chest. “That boy? That Elio?”

His jaw set, Oliver kept his eyes on her. 

“Yes. Elio.”

Beatrice looked at him; then looked down, at the hand she had on his chest. 

“It’s not a problem.” She shrugged minutely; looked back up into his eyes. Slowly, her fingers unlatched the top button of his shirt; then the next. “You’re very lucky, Oliver. You can have both. I don’t mind... you can sleep with both of us.”

Her voice had dropped another octave. He didn’t know if it was because of the alcohol, or the warmth of the room, but Oliver’s head was slowly starting to spin. 

“What are you talking about,” he protested. He pushed her hands back, away from his shirt. 

“I really am not jealous.” Beatrice pouted, raised her eyebrows. “Have both. I know it feels - different, to make love to a man or a woman. You can have both. Enjoy both.”

“For Christ’s sake, stop saying that!” Oliver stood. In an instant, it was as if his brain had woken up; though his head hurt, spun, making him nauseous, he finally had the strength to react. “What the hell is wrong with you.”

“Oliver.” Beatrice stood as well, suddenly meek. “Oliver. I’m only trying to do what you asked.”

“That’s not what I asked!” Oliver’s voice was raised. His heart beat fast, in anger. “For Christ’s sake. Have you even listened to me.”

“Oliver...”

Oliver’s hands trembled. Held in tight fists alongside his body. 

His head still spun, and he knew he had to go. Get out. 

He turned back, stalker towards the door - if Beatrice called for him, he didn’t even hear her. 

His head spun even faster as the chilly air of the night hit his face; he grabbed Belle’s bridle, hoisted himself up on the saddle. He spurred her towards the road; if this was Arthur, he would instinctively know where to go. 

But Belle didn’t. 

Belle was too young. 

As the wind blew strong while she galloped alongside the trail, raising debris from the trees and the woods nearby, a branch hit one of her legs, and she bucked up, neighing, suddenly and abruptly. Pushing Oliver off her back, making it impossible for him to hold on. 

And then, Oliver just felt pain. 

First nothing, then pain; so intense that he could no longer see. 

His head stopped spinning, and then there was darkness. 


	81. The side of the road

“I don’t know where he is. Please, help me.”

Elio’s face was streaked with tears when he appeared on Sadie’s door. He was breathing hard, seemed on the verge of a panic attack. 

Sadie held his arm, gently pulled him inside the house. 

“Elio, Elio, please breathe. Breathe, kid. Tilly, please can you bring us a glass of water? Quick?”

“No, no, there’s no time,” Elio sobbed, as Sadie led him to the chair by the table, made him sit down. “There’s no time.”

Sadie sat across from him and looked into his eyes, into the veil of tears there. She stroked Elio’s fringe back from his forehead. 

“Breathe. Tell me what happened.”

“Oliver hasn’t come back all day,” Elio sobbed, ignored the glass of water a worried Tilly placed on the table next to him. Sadie picked it up, wrapped his hand around it; made him take a small sip. “He, he went to work, this morning, as, as always, but then he didn’t come back, for the whole of the evening, and he, and he never does that, he always tells me, and - and so I waited and I thought, he’ll be here soon, but he wasn’t, and so I - I didn’t know what to do, I - I don’t know what happened.”

He’d spoken all the words almost in one breath only, and he was still sobbing, trembling when he finished. Sadie frowned, stroked his fringe back again - it kept falling in front of his eyes, getting stuck in the sweat of his forehead. 

“Maybe he’s been kept at work?” She suggested, more for Elio’s benefit than for anything else. She had a feeling that was something that didn’t usually happen. 

“No, no,” Elio shook his head. Sadie’s plan had definitely backfired - he seemed to be falling deeper into panic. “No. No, it never happens, please Sadie. It’s so late, there’s something wrong.”

“Okay, okay,” Sadie nodded. She shot Tilly a look. “We’ll find out. I’m sure everything’s fine, and that it’s just a misunderstanding.” 

Elio’s eyes were wide and terrified, and fixed into hers, begging, as if he really wanted to believe her, really wanted for her to tell him she knew that everything was fine. 

“It’s okay, Elio. We will figure it out,” she nodded, trying to look reassuring. “Did he say anything before he left this morning? Or last night? Maybe he had something to do, that he just mentioned in passing?”

Elio covered his face with a hand, squeezed his eyes shut; held his breath, to stifle more sobs. 

“No,” he whispered. “No. We had, we had an argument, last night.” He raised his eyes back on Sadie, swallowed. 

Sadie nodded. “Okay. That’s okay.” Gently,she wrapped his hand around the glass again. “Have another little bit of water. Come on.”

Elio obeyed. Took a sip. Then took a deep breath, trying to calm down as much as he could. It wasn’t working - he was still shacking, still full of panic. 

“Listen - could he have gone to see Sophia, maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe that’s it,” Tilly interjected. Clearly, both the women were trying to find a logical explanation, trying to make him feel better. 

But Elio shook his head miserably. 

“No,” he breathed, didn’t look up. “No. He wouldn’t go there.”

Sadie gave Tilly a look. Then turned back to Elio; reached out, with a hand, to wipe his cheek of the tears still there, gently. 

“It’ll be okay. It will. Of course we will help.” She looked back up at Tilly. “Tilly, would you mind running Elio a bath? I’ll getout there now and have a look for Oliver. Ask around.”

“Sure,” Tilly nodded, and made to go to the other room - but Elio looked up, his eyes wide again, panicked, and his voice raised. 

“No, no, I want to come with you. I want to come with you. Please, I want to come with you.”

“Hey, shhh, it’s okay,” Sadie held his shoulders, rubbed reassuringly. “It’s okay. If you want to come with me, you can.”

Elio’s wide eyes remained fixed on her, and he stood as soon as Sadie did, watched the girl walk to the door to put her boots on. And then, followed her outside. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was too late to check at Oliver’s work, as the head carpenter always closed up by six in the evening. But, Sadie said, the men usually always went to the saloon after work. If they checked there, they maybe would find Oliver’s colleagues - if not Oliver himself. 

Elio didn’t look too hopeful as she said that, and Sadie couldn’t blame him. Oliver wasn’t the type of man who’d go to spend hours at the saloon after work, not when he had a partner home who he actually did want to see, and a budding ranch to look after. 

And, as predicted, Oliver wasn’t there - but Elio recognised Joe, one of the men he’d seen at Oliver’s work some time prior. 

“Yes I’ve seen Oliver,” Joe slurred. He was drunk; he’d been at the bar for hours. “Are you his missus?”

“We just want to know where he is,” Sadie said, ignoring Joe’s question. 

Joe blinked at her. 

“He was talking about you, sweetheart. You better go to him, I think he misses ya.”

“Talking about me?” Sadie narrowed her eyes, feeling there might be a lead in there. 

“Uh-uh. You. And, uhh. Kids.”

Sadie nodded, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the man’s drunkenness. 

“Come, Elio,” she nudged the boy towards the door. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” Elio followed her, his eyes still frantic. 

“Let’s go see Beatrice.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It took nearly another hour before they reached Santa Maria, and Sadie set his jaw, looked at Elio closely as he dismounted the horse after her. 

She really hoped nothing bad had happened. She really hoped perhaps Oliver was, too, drunk somewhere. But safe. 

Yet, she had a feeling Beatrice had something to do with the whole thing - she had a feeling they weren’t wasting their time by going there. 

“Who are you?” Beatrice asked her when she opened the door. Her eyebrows knit in question; she looked like she wasn’t best pleased that Sadie had come visit so late. 

“Have you seen Oliver, Beatrice?” Elio spoke, before Sadie could. “We can’t find him.”

Beatrice’s eyes went wide the moment they landed on the boy. 

“Have you seen him?” When she didn’t reply, Elio insisted. 

“No. No, I haven’t seen him.”

“Why are there two glasses on your table?” 

Sadie’s voice was hard. She looked at Beatrice, straight in the eye. “Huh?”

“Excuse me, I still don’t know who you are,” Beatrice frowned at her; refused to move from the door. 

“You don’t need to know who I am. I am looking for Oliver. You say you haven’t seen him, then why do you have two glasses on your table? Can you answer this question?”

“I don’t need to answer your questions. I don’t know you.”

Sadie was about to bite back - about to lose her patience, in truth - when Elio cried out. 

“Sadie! Sadie! That’s Belle,” he screamed, running towards the dark road, towards whatever he had seen there. With one last look Sadie turned her back on Beatrice and followed him - saw him clutching Belle’s bridle, the animal stomping his hooves in agitation, clearly scared. 

“Belle! Belle, where is Oliver,” Elio’s broken voice begged, his hands on Belle’s neck, on her face, trying to calm her down even though he himself was shaking. 

Sadie looked ahead in the road - if Belle was still there, perhaps Oliver wasn’t far away. There was something in the middle of the dusty terrain a few feet ahead, a satchel, a work bag. Sadie walked further, her step quicker. Behind her, the noise of Elio’s boots became more frantic as he approached - and then the boy ran ahead, his voice a scream of pain and terror. 

“Oliver!! Oliver!!!” 

He crouched down next to a tree by the side of the door calling Oliver’s name, over and over, and it was too dark for Sadie to see until she rushed over. 

Oliver’s body lay on the ground, unconscious. 

There was blood on the side of his head; his arm was bent at an unnatural angle. 

“Oliver!! Oliver, please wake up. Oliver, please!,” Elio cried. 


	82. Drift off

When Oliver blinked his eyes open, all he could feel, at first, was searing pain. 

He closed his eyes once again, because he’d had enough injuries before to know that he needed to ride though the feeling and grit his teeth, wait for the precious moment of lucidity after that to take stock of the situation and of himself, to find out what he needed to do to keep himself alive. 

But, when he opened his eyes back up again, and took notice of his surroundings, he felt the softness of a mattress underneath him. When he tried to move his fingers, he felt the touch of fabric above them - of bedsheets. 

It took him a while, but he soon noticed the fingers of his right hand weren’t responding - trapped, in something. When he tried to move them more decidedly, a flame of pain shot up his arm, making him whimper. 

“Oliver!”

A female voice had called his name. 

Oliver opened his eyes again - he hadn’t even noticed he’d closed them, squeezed them shut against the pain - and saw a familiar face, blonde hair, brown eyes. Sadie. 

“Where am I?” he tried to say, though his voice felt so rough against his throat. 

“You’re okay, you’re safe. You’re with us. At our house. It’s okay.”

Her voice, her demeanour, seemed calm. She sat on the edge of the bed next to him, a small smile on his face. 

Oliver closed his eyes, squeezed them shut once again when his head throbbed. 

At their house. At Sadie, Susan, and Tilly’s house. Why was he at their house? What happened??

“Where’s Elio?” he asked, suddenly frantic. He opened his eyes; tried to lever with his good arm to pull himself up to sitting, his heart rate suddenly spiking up.

“It’s okay, he’s fine, he’s fine,” Sadie rushed to say. A hand on his shoulder, she nudged him back down, gently. “He’s okay. He’s downstairs. Everything’s fine. Lay back down.”

Oliver closed his eyes again, willed his heart to slow down. If Sadie said Elio was fine, then it must be true. Sadie didn’t lie. 

“He’s been by your side this whole time. He wouldn’t sleep or eat - I had to force him to sip on some chamomile tea. He’s finally asleep now - I think he crashed.”

Oliver kept his eyes closed. Testing whether this would help with his searing headache. 

“How long have I been out.” His voice was still rough, the words still felt like they scraped at the inside of his throat. 

Sadie reached to the nightstand, turned back around and offered him a glass of water - and Oliver took a grateful drink from it. 

“Nearly three days.” She sighed - but the small smile was still on her face. “We had you checked out by Doctor Mannor. Your right arm and wrist are broken, you scraped your temple on the ground but - you’re okay, otherwise. He gave you morphine to help you rest. But there’s no permanent damage.”

“Not crippled yet, then,” Oliver nodded, with a small chuckle, his eyes still closed. 

“That’s right,” Sadie, too, chuckled. “We’ e been looking after you, but Elio - Elio’s been wonderful. But it’s been really hard, for him.”

Oliver took a breath. 

He could imagine that. He felt stupid, really stupid, for having let this happen to him. What was he thinking, even? Anybody who’d decided to do something like that, he would have told them what huge idiots they were being. To drink that much, to stay out that late, to ride away in the night with a young, inexperienced horse who was scared of the wind. To keep his husband in the dark about all of it. 

To make him worry so much. 

“Will you bring him to me, when he wakes up, please?” Oliver asked, his voice meek. 

Sadie nodded, with a smile. 

“Sure.” She took the glass of water, offered it to him again. “But for now, you still need to take care of yourself. Drink some more.”

And Oliver did. Blinking his eyes. Trying to keep them open, against the haze of the tiredness and discomfort. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He was taking a few more slow sips from a fresh glass of water, an hour later, when he heard rushed footsteps from downstairs. And then the door to the bedroom he was a guest in opened, and Elio appeared. Breathing hard, but stopping to stand just by the foot of the bed; staring at Oliver. 

“Hey,” the older man greeted. His voice still rough and croaky with disuse. 

Elio swallowed. “Oliver.” His hands in fists by his sides, he blinked, and then, his jaw tense, he rubbed a palm down his cheek. His eyes were red. 

“I - I asked them to tell me when you woke up.”

He was frowning; his mouth pursed into a pout. His eyes were bright, and he looked so youthful, so incredibly young like this. Vulnerable. 

“They wanted to let you rest. They said you haven’t slept much lately,” Oliver said, reaching to place his glass back on the nightstand - and he couldn’t help but grimace. 

Elio walked slowly towards him. 

“Oliver.”

He rubbed a hand over his eyes again; with frustration. 

“I thought - I thought you were - I thought...” Oliver watched him bite his trembling lower lip, unshed tears glittering in his eyelashes. 

“Hey, hey. Baby, don’t cry. Please.”

Elio knelt on the floor next to him, buried his face into his side. Oliver raised his good arm, wrapped it around him - sunk his fingers into Elio’s curls. 

“Don’t cry, Elio. Don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” Elio murmured, his chest heaving as he tried not to let his grief overwhelm him. “I’m sorry for the stuff I said, I’m sorry for how horrible I’ve been. I’m so sorry.”

“Elio.” Oliver raised his hand, brushed curls back from Elio’s forehead. Cleared his throat, trying to make his voice work. “It’s not your fault, none of this.”

“It is,” Elio looked up at him. His eyes were swollen. His mouth, so red. 

And it was beautiful, and Oliver just wanted to kiss it. 

“It’s my fault, I was being selfish. And now look what happened,” Elio sobbed. 

“None - none of this was your fault,” Oliver repeated, tried hard to keep his eyes steady and sure where his voice wavered, his throat dry. He swallowed. “I was being an idiot, I was the one who - got drunk. I wasn’t thinking. Or maybe...I was thinking too much.”

He stroked a wavy strand of hair back from Elio’s forehead, again, gently. 

Elio’s teeth still bit into his lower lip, his eyes still wide. 

“I was an idiot. And I’m sorry,” Oliver repeated. 

And Elio nodded. 

“I’m sorry too.” 

Oliver nodded, too. “Now that we’ve both apologized to each other,” he stretched his lips into a smile, setting his jaw at the same time when the effort made his head throb, “Will you kiss me?”

He watched, as Elio looked down, then back up, and he was smiling, too, tightly, but even so; he rubbed a hand on his eyes again, and then leant forward, slowly, carefully. Placed his mouth on Oliver’s. Kissed him, once, really lightly; then twice. Then three times. 

Oliver lifted his good hand, and cupped Elio’s cheek. Returned his kisses, but now held him in place with as much strength as he could, and licked his lips, to encourage Elio to open his mouth. 

The deeper kiss that followed only lasted a few moments. 

“Hey, I don’t - “ Elio started, pulling back a little. “I don’t want you to strain yourself. You should be resting.”

“But maybe I want more.” Oliver’s voice was still shaky, and rough; yet, he wasn’t ready to give up Elio’s kisses. “Kiss me, baby. Please.”

And Elio’s resolve was weak, and Oliver only had to ask once - and then their lips were joined again, their mouths on each other. They kissed, once, twice. Once again. Deeply. 

Oliver felt exhausted, but he wasn’t ready to let this go. 

“Oh, I’m - I’m sorry, Mister Oliver, Elio, I - didn’t mean to intrude.”

Standing by the door, Tilly sounded so sheepish and embarrassed at having walked in to their private moment that Oliver had to smile. 

Elio pulled back, his cheeks rosy with warmth, and just as bashful as their friend. 

“Uh, no, Tilly, it’s okay. What is it?”

“I just - I came to see how Mister Oliver’s doing. If he needs his bandage changed? Doc said to change it every day.”

Oliver hadn’t even noticed he had been patched up. He must have bumped his head as he fell off the horse - all of a sudden, as if Tilly mentioning his wound had made it real, he felt his left temple pulse with licks of pain. 

“Ah - no. No, thank you, Tilly. I’m - I’m okay.”

“All right, Mister Oliver,” Tilly nodded. “Take it easy, ya hear? Me and the girls are downstairs, whenever you need.”

And with that, and a quick smile to Elio, she disappeared back down the stairs. 

“Why are we at Susan’s place,” Oliver asked. He reached with his good hand to lightly, carefully touch his injured temple; he closed his eyes for a few moments in response to the sting he felt. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” Elio asked. 

“I remember - I remember drinking a lot. And then - the horse. Belle, and the wind. Falling off.”

Elio took a deep breath. His eyes were still wide, but dry. 

“We found you by the side of the road. You were - injured. Sadie insisted we took you back to their house, because it’s three of them, so they could help. We called the doctor.” He reached out to take Oliver’s good hand in his on the mattress. “We’ve been here for nearly three days - Sadie keeps going back and forth between here and our house. Feeding the animals, cleaning them. She’s been amazing.”

Oliver nodded. 

“Feel like I’ve taken enough advantage of their good heart,” he said. Closed his eyes. “We should go home soon.”

“We can go home soon but you can’t do - what you were doing before. Not yet. You need to rest.”

Oliver opened his eyes; closed them again. 

He felt tired. 

“I’m okay,” he protested. “I’m okay.”

“You will be, but for now you need to rest. It’s the only way for you to get better.” Elio stroked up Oliver’s arm, and then down, then up again. Calming.

Oliver’s eyes were already closing by their own accord. 

“If I sleep now, will you lay with me,” he said quietly. “Sleep next to me.”

He only just managed to hear the whispered ‘yes’ coming from Elio’s mouth; to feel the dip in weight on the bed, as Elio climbed on the mattress, and carefully lay next to him. Arranging himself so not to accidentally bump into him, while being as close to him as physically possible at the same time. 

Oliver closed his eyes; and, as he felt Elio’s hand landing gently on top of his chest, he let himself drift off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please leave me a comment! 🙌🏻☺️


	83. Red

For the first few days, Oliver had stayed in bed. Elio had been very surprised that his attempts at persuasion worked, that Oliver had acquiesced, and agreed to rest, for once. 

The truth was that he was injured, hurting - not just in his broken arm and wrist, but also in those parts of his body he’d hit as he’d fallen from the horse - his back, his shoulder; his head. 

Elio had insisted he lay in bed and rested and did nothing, at least until the pain of his bruises started to fade a little. And Oliver had done as Elio asked. 

They‘d been with Sadie, Susan and Tilly for the whole of a week, now. Sadie and Elio went back to the house every day, to feed the animals and water the garden. On the second day, before Oliver had even woken up, Elio had taken Rufus back with him. The dog had finally met Rosie; they’d hit it off, straight away. 

It was late at night on their eight day there, nearly midnight. 

Oliver was asleep. Elio, sat on the edge of the bed, watched him. 

Oliver always told Elio how beautiful he was, how gorgeous and attractive, how sweet he smelled and how soft his lips, his skin were. But Oliver was beautiful, so handsome, in his own right.

Elio looked at his husband’s perfect profile. His nose was smoother, less sharp than Elio’s. His lips were thinner, but soft, just as much as Elio’s must feel; his skin was darker, golden with the sun Oliver worked under every day - and Elio loved the difference in their complexions, in the tone of their skin, how evident it was when they were pressed against one another. 

Oliver had the bluest of eyes, and a dark curtain of eyelashes around them. His hair, too, was longer now. His chin and cheeks were covered by a thick, coarse, short beard. Elio knew, for experience, how good that felt as it rubbed against the softest spots on his body. 

Oliver hadn’t even stirred.

Elio bit his lip, looked down. He felt a little ashamed at his thoughts, ashamed for sitting there, daydreaming about his husband as he lay in bed, sleeping, injured. 

They still needed to talk; properly. 

He sighed. Then looked at Oliver one more time, leant down, to place a soft, light kiss on the older man’s shoulder. And then he lay down, too, next to him, and let sleep take him. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Late, the morning after, Elio padded downstairs, walked to the living room where both Sadie and Tilly sat. Tilly sewing up one of her aprons, Sadie polishing a pair of boots, chatting to each other of this and that. 

“Rosie is asleep,” Elio said, running a hand though his unruly curls. Rosie has taken to want to touch them every time they played together, messing them up at every possible turn. 

“She’s tired,” Tilly said, without moving her eyes from her work. “She couldn’t sleep until the early morning, kept dreaming of that bear she’s scared of.”

Elio frowned. “What bear?”

“Oh, don’t you worry, we don’t even think it exists,” Sadie answered then, with a smile. She looked up, and her eyes widened. “What happened to your mouth?”

Elio looked at her, confused for a moment; he bit his lip, and the taste of the make-up cream reminded him. 

“Oh. Rosie was playing with Tilly’s lipstick, she put some on her doll and- and on me, but I - I think I’ve taken it all off...” he said, turning towards the mirror in the living room, looking at himself and rubbing at his mouth with the back of a hand. 

“Oh, that color looks so good on you!” Tilly clapped her hands together, apron dropped to the floor. She gestured urgently. “Come here, come here.”

Elio looked at Sadie, confused, as Tilly ran out of the room and back in, with a small vanity case in her hands. Sadie shrugged, in response to Elio’s perplexed look, while Tilly sat down across from him, the small, silvery pot of her lipstick in a hand. 

“What are you doing?” Elio asked, chuckled, confused, as Tilly told him to ‘come here, sit’. He looked at Sadie, who shrugged, a smile on her face, as Tilly blotted some coloured cream on a brush and slowly, precisely, applied it to Elio’s lips. 

“Sadie never lets me put make up on her,” Tilly explained, as if it made total sense. “I love doing this!”

Sadie shrugged again, still smiling, at the perplexed look Elio shot her. 

“Open your mouth a little. Keep it soft. That’s it,” Tilly instructed. And Elio did as he was told. As perplexed as he was, he had to admit, he found this interesting. He was curious. 

“You already have some pink on your cheeks sometimes but I think if we put some more color right here,” and Tilly blotted some powder high along Elio’s cheekbones, “with your pale complexion, you’ll look like a perfect doll.”

“I don’t know if I want to look like a doll,” Elio frowned. Scrunched his nose. 

But Tilly was too excited to even attempt an answer. 

“Here. All done!” She announced a few seconds later. She turned, grabbed her mirror, handed it to Elio. “Have a look at yourself. You look precious.”

Elio took the mirror, and looked at himself, as he’d been asked. He frowned; staring at his reflection, tilted his head, pursed his lips. 

He looked different. He didn’t know if he looked exactly ‘precious’, as Tilly had put it. 

“You have some gorgeous lips,” Tilly spoke, smiling. “So full and well defined! You’re the envy of every woman, I swear. And your high cheekbones, that pale skin... oh. To die for!”

Elio gave himself another look at the mirror; turned this side, and that, studying what he saw in the reflection. 

“I think you should do make-up,” he said, looking back up at Tilly. “As a job.”

“I agree. You’ve always liked it, Tilly,” Sadie quipped then. “Maybe you could ask at the theatre down in Fort Smith? For their actors?”

“Or I could even ask at the church,” Elio said. “When they have recitals, they might need help with the performers.”

Tilly was smiling gently, but had become suddenly sheepish. “I don’t know...”

Sadie smiled at her.“Aw, come on, love. It would get you out of the house, and you’d do something you actually like to do.”

Elio nodded, lowering the mirror to look at her. 

And it was then that his eyes found Oliver’s. 

Stood by the entrance to the living room, chest bare and his arm in a cast supported by a rope around his neck, Oliver stared at him. A half smile on his face. 

“Oliver, what - what are you doing up,” Elio put the mirror down, stood, suddenly, as if he’d been caught doing something forbidden. 

He hadn’t meant for his husband to see him being silly like that, getting himself made up like a woman. 

“I needed to relieve myself,” Oliver replied; took a step towards him. “What is going on, here?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Elio gave panicked looks to both Sadie and Tilly, and walked to Oliver, pushed gently on his good arm. “Go back to the bedroom.”

He felt Oliver’s hand around his wrist, tight, and then he was pulled to the side, in the hallway, pushed with his back against the wall by Oliver’s body. Oliver looking down at him, in the semi-darkness there. 

“What is this?” Oliver’s thumb followed the lower edge of Elio’s bottom lip. Slow. 

“Tilly - Tilly put her - her lipstick. On me. For a joke. It was a joke, I was going to take it off.”

Oliver’s eyes didn’t move from where they were chained to his. His thumb pushed harder - pulling Elio’s lip down, and then Oliver’s hand pushed up under his chin, exposing his mouth further to his gaze. 

“It looks silly. I know, I’ll take it off,” Elio said. He felt like trembling. Oliver’s eyes were scrutinising him with such attention, with such interest; he didn’t know what was happening. 

And then, his words made Elio blink. 

“Do you have any idea how stunning you look?”

The older man’s voice was a low growl, husky, and throaty. When Elio blinked again, managed to break the spell that Oliver’s eyes had him in, he felt his hips as they pushed against his own, Oliver’s erection against his belly. 

“I don’t know,” he managed to murmur. 

Oliver ran his thumb over Elio’s bottom lip again; he looked like he wanted to eat him alive.

“Of course you don’t know.” 

Oliver lifted his face again. Pulled his bottom lip down, and joined their lips - in a kiss that was instantly open-mouthed, deep, Oliver’s tongue pushing and exploring, hungry and possessive. 

Elio wanted to protest that Oliver should not be exerting himself, that he should go back to bed, that he was worried for his arm - but instead he couldn’t even fight the moan that that violent kiss tore from his throat. 

Minutes later, when Oliver left his mouth, he fought to take a deep breath, closed his eyes - and felt Oliver burrow his face into his neck, his warm breath leaving its imprint on his skin. 

“You should- you should be in bed,” Elio murmured, breathless. 

“Yes, I should. I should be in bed with you.”

Oliver’s voice was dark, deep. A rough whisper against Elio’s reddened cheek. 

He turned around then, took Elio’s mouth in another bruising kiss, and Elio wrapped his arms around Oliver’s neck, raised on tiptoes, breathed in and moaned, kissing and kissing, feeling Oliver’s sweat, his skin, the hair on his chest under his arms. 

Letting him pull him towards the stairs, hold him by the arm as he climbed up, until they could hide behind his closed bedroom door. 


	84. Steady

Elio breathed hard. 

Oliver’s kisses seemed to not want to stop, and he didn’t want them to stop, either - kept kissing back and biting and moaning for every time that Oliver’s mouth connected with his. 

He liked Oliver throwing his caution, his control, to the wind. Even liked it when Oliver’s good hand held his side hard, so hard that his fingers flexed into Elio’s flesh, and he had to chuckle and try to squirm away to escape the tickle. 

“Hey, hey,” Elio murmured, his hands on Oliver’s chest, looking up to find his eyes as the older man kept up with his kisses to his mouth. “You should lay down. With your arm, you can’t - you can’t - be on top of me.”

He nudged him gently towards the bed, and Oliver sat down, lay back on the pillow they’d arranged to hold his upper body raised. 

“Want to undress you,” Oliver growled softly. His eyes were wide, dark with his dilated pupils. 

Elio leant over, kissed his lips - cried out gently against them when Oliver’s good hand seized his wrist again, hard. 

“I’ll do it. You lay back,” Elio said. 

He pulled back, and took off his shirt, unbuttoned his trousers - feeling Oliver’s incensed eyes on him the whole time, on his body, as it was revealed to his gaze. Elio smiled, half-sheepish, half-coquettish, and reached out with his hands to unlatch Oliver’s pants too. He pulled him out of them, stroked; Oliver was already fully, painfully hard. 

Keeping his eyes fixed into the deep blue depths of his husband’s, Elio lowered his face, slowly; until Oliver’s erection rested on his lips, just the tip of it. He watched as Oliver set his jaw, observed him carefully as Elio licked him, a kitten lick, once, twice; and then, he opened his mouth, and went down on his sex, letting it slide against his palate and into his throat. 

“Fuck,” Oliver groaned. His eyes closed for a moment. His hips pushed up on their own accord, and Elio closed his eyes, breathed. He continued to move, up and down, his mouth full and saliva on his swollen bottom lip, even when he felt Oliver’s good hand on his nape, up into his hair - holding him down. He knew what was going to happen, he knew that Oliver loved it, and so he didn’t push up with his hands on the bed - let Oliver’s fingers hold him still, let Oliver fuck his throat. 

He only lifted himself up when Oliver let him go, and the older man’s eyes were on fire, his breathing quick. 

“Is this enough, then?” Elio joked, smilingmischievously. His own voice was rough, now, his throat protesting the misuse. 

“Oh, don’t you dare,” Oliver snarled. Elio giggled, quietly; and then, he pulled himself up, pulled his thighs up and apart, to straddle his husband. He bent down to kiss his lips for a moment and then reached behind himself, guided Oliver inside his body. 

It felt so good, so good to be taking him inside, to slid down, to arch his back and to moan in unison with him, that Elio really didn’t care who heard them. 

He made all the noise he needed to make, he moaned and cried out, responded to Oliver’s riling and questions of Does it feel good, is it deep, his requests to go faster, his compliments and his praise that Elio was beautiful, so tight and beautiful, so good and so obedient, made just for Oliver. The old wooden bed creaked and shook, but Elio didn’t care, just arched his back further, kicked his hips, bent forward to kiss Oliver, pulled his good hand on his own sex to stroke, touch, explore. 

This time, Oliver came before him. Elio felt his hips going rigid, as they pushed up one more time, nudging that spot deep inside his abdomen that made him shiver and see stars. He bent over once again to kiss Oliver, and the older man kept stroking him with his good hand until Elio trembled, moaned on his mouth as if he was wounded, and Oliver growled against his cheek, ‘Nice and loud, baby. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect. That’s it.’

They kissed, slowly, lazy, as they let their bodies come down from both their orgasms. It hurt a little when Elio pulled away from him, unlodged him from inside his body; but then he lay down next to Oliver, hand on his chest, head snuggled against his shoulder; and gave himself over to exhaustion. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio woke perhaps an hour later. He opened one eye, then the other. Saw that Oliver was awake, next to him. Elio smiled, closed his eyes again, burrowed his face into Oliver’s armpit. 

“Hey,” Oliver greeted. He ran his good hand over Elio’s side, and the boy laughed, his eyes still closed. “Stop pretending to be asleep.”

Elio opened his eyes into Oliver’s amused face. Pulled back, to hide his face into his pillow, refusing to return to reality for a little longer. 

“You were wonderful. Earlier,” Oliver said, his voice soft. 

Elio opened his eyes. “I missed you.”

“You found a good trick to remind me of what I was missing,” Oliver said, smiled. 

Elio covered his face, self-conscious. 

“I didn’t know you would - you would like that. Make-up, on my face.”

“I love that mouth of yours always, and that color only made me want it even more.” Oliver sighed, smiled some more. “Just thinking about it makes me hard again.”

Elio reached with his hand, slapped the side of Oliver’s chest, light, playful. “Oh, hush.”

They lay side by side, for a few more minutes. Just breathing together, just enjoying the closeness. The one they’d been missing, for a while, now. 

Then, Elio sighed. Knitted his eyebrows, in thought. 

“Will you tell me what happened? That night?”

He really didn’t need to specify which night he was talking about; and he really hoped his question wouldn’t change the whole mood between them. He wanted to talk; they needed to talk.

He watched as Oliver breathed, and then reached out, took one of Elio’s hands in one of his, played with his fingers gently. 

“I wanted to do right by Sophia. Like you said, I’ve been running from it for too long.But I was drunk, like an idiot, and I think I chose the wrong moment to speak to Beatrice. She thought that what I told her meant I’d be - with her, too.”

Elio frowned. 

“What did she...”

“She said she’d be happy with any arrangement,” Oliver said, put emphasis on the word. He lowered his voice, kept his eyes serene, to show Elio that he wasn’t upset by her proposition. It didn’t touch him, it wasn’t of interest to him, whatsoever. 

“And that’s not what I meant, of course.” He continued. “But, like I said, I was drunk, like an idiot. So I left. But I am quite sure she got the message.”

Elio swallowed. He felt so guilty. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. In a way, maybe I knew that’s what she wanted. It wasn’t a big surprise.”

Elio looked at him, for a few more seconds, thoughtful. Looked down, at his fingers playing with Oliver’s. 

“I’ve thought a lot.” He looked into Oliver’s eyes, his husband returning the gaze. Listening. 

“I don’t know what happened, I don’t - I mean. I thought I was doing the right thing. With - with Sophia. With Beatrice.” He left Oliver’s eyes and looked down, at the mattress they were laying on. Down the bed, at their feet, tips of the toes gently touching. “But it wasn’t just that. I thought about it and I... I think I was scared.”

He looked back up, and Oliver held his eyes. 

“Scared? Why?”

“I was scared, because - because Oliver, you will want that. You will want a child. You will want your own child. And I can’t give you that. I wish I could, but I can’t. We can’t - be a normal couple.”

Oliver was looking at him, the beginning of a frown between his eyebrows. 

“Elio...”

“It’s not about you wanting Beatrice,” Elio said, urgently. “It’s just about something natural, something - normal, that people experience, that a man would want. I can’t give you that and when I heard that Sophia existed, I - I thought that would be good. That you could have your own child, and maybe I’d be allowed to, I don’t know. Look after her, sometimes.”

Elio sighed again. Then looked back up, checked Oliver’s eyes. He looked concerned; confused. 

“I’m sorry, I know it’s stupid. It’s so stupid. And I pushed you, towards them, because I thought it was the right thing, I pushed you towards Beatrice and - look what happened...”

“Elio. Baby, no.” Oliver pulled himself slowly up to sitting, and Elio did the same. “This is not your fault. I was taken aback by what happened, by finding out I have a daughter, and I... I didn’t want it to change my life. Our life.”

He reached out, brushed a curl behind Elio’s ear. 

“There’s nothing that you have to give me. There is nothing more that I want. You give me everything, already. You’ve given me you, and that’s all I could ever, ever want.”

Elio remained quiet, for a moment. His eyes pricked, and he blinked, forced himself to not give in to emotions. 

But it was difficult. 

After all this time, one word from Oliver could reach so deep into his heart, so fast. 

“And I guess with this I want to say,” Oliver continued; his thumb went to skim Elio’s bottom lip, the one he’d been lusting after not even a couple hours before - he was now stroking with all the gentleness in the world. “I want to say that I’m sorry, too. I closed up, as - as my usual. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for being so stupid, getting myself half killed. I’m sorry I can’t look after you because of that.”

Elio sighed again. His eyes shone, and he shook his head, a soft smile on his lips. 

“It’s okay. I can look after you, this time.”

His voice was low, a whisper. But Oliver smiled; and reached out, to kiss him. Gently, and slow; and warm. 

Elio’s hand on his chest, supporting him; holding him steady. 


	85. Road to recovery

__They returned home a couple of days later.

Elio had loved to be able to spend so much time with their friends. Of course, the circumstances hadn’t been happy, not with Oliver injured, not with so many questions and so much tension between them. 

But he’d loved the time he got to spend with Sadie, he’d loved looking after Rosie and playing with her, he’d loved letting Susan and Tilly look after him and Oliver in return. It had felt a little bit like some time before, when Susan, Sadie and Tilly were the ones staying at Elio and Oliver’s house. 

But their little ranch needed attention. 

The horses needed looking after, the chicken coop needed cleaning; the vegetable garden needed weeding, needed more seeds planted. 

Elio hugged the ladies goodbye, endured Tilly’s gentle teasing, going all red in the face when she winked at him, said ‘Glad you had fun the other day’. 

Sadie tied her horse to their wagon and helped drive it back to their cottage. 

Once they were alone, back home, Elio made sure that Oliver rested as much as possible. His arm was still bandaged, his rib cage still tender. Elio was terrified that he’d hurt his head badly where he hit it, and so he wanted him to wait, take it easy, not strain himself.

In any case, Oliver could not return to his carpenter job just yet. 

Elio took extra jobs teaching piano in town and nearby. With kisses, begging, whispered promises that he’d be around by dinner time every day, extra attention paid when he was indeed home, he coaxed Oliver into letting him work overtime, to bring the money in. 

Elio made sure to cook for him, early in the morning and in the evening, because with only one hand to use it was difficult for Oliver to even feed himself. Went to the market and made sure to buy the meat Oliver couldn’t hunt for, and the fish he couldn’t catch at the river. 

At night, he helped Oliver wash, and then washed and made himself smell sweet, and feel soft for him. Made sure his husband was happy when it came to making love, too.

He wanted to look after Oliver so well. Just like Oliver had done for him that whole time.

Oliver, of course, suffered a lot from boredom.

He wasn’t used to spending so much time doing nothing. He wasn’t used to not being able to use his body for heavy tasks. He wasn’t used to not feeling useful. 

He became fussy. 

“Stay here,” he said one day, holding Elio by the wrist, as the boy leant down to kiss him goodbye before going to run his errands. 

“I can’t. I need to go to the market. Then I am teaching Lori and Jude. You know that.” 

“You can,” Oliver said, didn’t let him go. “You’re working too much. I never see you. I want you here.” 

Elio smiled, rolled his eyes a little. “Oliver, come on. Don’t be a child.” 

And then he squeaked, rather childlike himself, because Oliver pulled him down by the wrist, making him land on the couch on his back, Oliver on top of him as much as he could. His broken arm was getting better, and that allowed him a little more movement. 

“You know I don’t like it when you contradict me,” he growled on Elio’s mouth. And Elio wanted to protest, he really did, because he was trying to be responsible and grown up and supportive, and there were things to go, errands to run. But then Oliver kissed him, growling low in his throat, his good hand sliding under Elio’s spine and to his backside, Oliver’s hips bucking down into his - and Elio’s defences crumbled. 

He closed his eyes, kissed back, moaned into Oliver’s mouth. Opened his legs, let him settle between his thighs. Thought that he could be a little late for the market, after all. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then one day, Beatrice reappeared. 

Hearing the noise of a carriage approaching, early one morning, Elio looked through the window, to see Beatrice exiting the wagon, Sophia on her hip. A man also appeared from the wagon, but stood by it, didn’t walk with them towards their house.

“Who is it?” Oliver asked, from where he was sat on the couch, drinking his morning coffee. Elio knew that Oliver didn’t like when Elio just opened the door to visitors, without confirming their intentions first; but in this case, he just needed to find out what it was that the woman wanted.

He frowned, opened the door, regarded Beatrice with a hard look. 

“Why are you here?”

Before Beatrice could even answer, though, Sophia kicked her legs, asked to be let down, ran to Elio with a cry. “Elio!!!” the child called, hugging his leg - and Elio hugged her back, his expression changing to tender in a moment. 

“Hey Soph. I missed you.”

“I’m sorry to come to you like this,” Beatrice said. She was speaking quietly, meekly - and Elio looked up at her, frowned. “I’ve come to ask if Sophia could stay at your house, for a little while.”

Elio narrowed his frown even further. He was about to answer, but then, Oliver’s voice came. He was standing by the door, his good hand holding the frame and frowning, just like Elio was if not more. 

“Go inside, Elio,” he said. His voice was quiet, but Elio knew very well that tone that left no room for argument. Sophia’s little hand was already holding his shirt and so Elio crouched down, let her other hand tangle in his curls, lifted the child in his arms and did as Oliver told him, disappearing into the house without a word. 

“I don’t want you bothering me anymore,” Oliver said. “I don’t want you bothering my family, anymore.”

Beatrice nodded. Looked contrite. 

“I know you hate me,” she said. Quiet. “But I’m here to ask for your help. To ask you for help with your daughter.”

When Oliver didn’t answer, still held his hard expression on his face, Beatrice continued.

“I have to go somewhere, and it would be only for a few days. I promise. Then I will come back, and I won’t bother you anymore.”

Oliver looked at her. At her face - she seemed to have aged ten years in only a few weeks - at her expectant, wide eyes. Oliver knew that expression, that begging look. 

His eyes went to the man who still stood by the carriage, still. Tall, and well dressed. Rich. Beatrice was well dressed too. 

Oliver set his jaw. 

“She’s my daughter. I will look after her. It’s you I don’t trust.”

“Oh, thank you, Oliver!” The first shadow of a smile appeared on Beatrice’s face, a smile that Oliver didn’t share. It seemed like she didn’t care about anything else, but to get what she’d asked. “I’ll be back soon, and then I won’t bother you anymore.” She smiled again, and then turned around, walked briskly, back towards the carriage. She boarded it, and the man followed her. 

Oliver shook his head, and went back into the house. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think.... x


	86. Blonde hair

Elio left Sophia to play with Rufus on the floor by the fireplace, and rushed to Oliver, in the kitchen, so that they were out of earshot. 

“Where’s Beatrice?” he asked, searching for Oliver’s eyes. 

Oliver leant on the table with his good hand, looked down at the wooden surface.

“She’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“She said only for a few days.” Oliver looked at Elio, a sceptical look painted over his expression. 

Elio nodded, slowly.

“I’ll go and get her bed set up.” 

They had a small couch, in a corner of the sitting room, which they turned into a makeshift bed for Sophia. It would do for the moment. 

When they were done, they looked over, to find Rufus barking, his tail wagging madly, Sophia watching him amusedly and waving the piece of cloth he used as a toy for tug and war in front of his nose. 

Elio went to sit on the floor next to her. “Are you hungry, Soph?” he asked, softly. 

“Hm-hmmm,” Sophia shook his head no. She looked up at Elio, knitted her eyebrows in a frown that was so reminiscent of how Oliver sometimes looked when he was confused. 

“Where’s mommy?”

And Elio, in turn, looked up at Oliver. 

“Mommy will be away for a while.” Oliver responded for him. 

Elio was afraid Sophia would get upset - but instead, she looked from Oliver to him, and then shuffled closer to Elio, reached out with her hand to push her fingers into his curls. 

“Your hair is black,” she said. Looking at the curls she tugged in her fingers, as if she’d just seen them for the first time. “Mine’s yellow, like Ulliver.”

Elio gave her a little smile; looked up at Oliver again. Decided not to push it. 

“It’s called blond, sweetie. Blond hair.”

“Blond hair,” Sophia repeated. “Can I touch?”

And Elio responded for Oliver this time. 

“Yes, you can,” he said, gently untangling her chubby fingers from his curls and picking up the child, lifting her so that she was at level with Oliver’s shoulders and could reach out, touch Oliver’s shorter hair. She couldn’t pull it, not like she did with Elio’s curls, but she grabbed a strand nonetheless, looked at it interestedly.

“Oliver, could you hold Sophia for a moment?” Elio asked. “Sit down, hold her for a bit. I need to go and feed the chickens.” Oliver didn’t respond, just looked as if he didn’t know what to do; and so Elio nudged him to sit down, on the sofa, placed Sophia carefully on his lap. 

“Gently, Sophia,” he recommended. “Gently. Oliver’s hurt.” 

He checked that she was obeying him, and that Oliver was okay, and then he stood, walked out of the house, though planning to sort out his task as quickly as possible and to keep an eye on what was happening inside the house. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sophia napped for a while in the afternoon, and then Elio made soup for everyone, and they ate together. Sophia let Elio help her with her spoon; watched Oliver from the corner of her eye the whole time. He was quiet; and she was probably trying to figure him out. 

In bed, later on that night, as they lay side by side in the dark, Oliver sighed. 

“Having Sophia here will change some things,” he said. Reached out, took Elio’s hand, played with his fingers. “We’ll need to be more careful. We won’t be able to make love wherever we want in the house.”

Elio turned towards him on the pillow. Gave an amused chuckle, his eyebrows shooting up. “No, we won’t.”

Oliver turned towards him too, and kissed his naked shoulder. 

“We won’t be able to make love outside in the backyard, either.” 

“We were never going to make love outside in the backyard!” Elio retorted, his eyebrows shooting up even further. 

Oliver pulled up on his good arm, leant down over him, to kiss Elio’s nose, then his lips. 

“I don’t recall giving you a choice, have I.” 

He looked down into Elio’s eyes which were wide, surprised, holding his gaze until the boy smiled softly, shook his head, pecked Oliver’s mouth. 

“Stop,” Elio whispered, jokingly, smacking Oliver’s shoulder playfully. 

Oliver smiled; and then, his eyes became more serious. 

“I love you, you know.” He kissed Elio again; the corner of his mouth, the full swell of his lips. “Very much.” 

Every I love you from Oliver always got Elio’s heart to skip a beat, no matter how long they’d been together or how many times he’d said it before; and Elio melted a little on the mattress, looked up into his husband’s eyes and stroked his fringe back from his forehead. 

“I love you too,” he said softly. “I can’t wait until your arm heals. So that you can hold me again when we sleep.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Why you have to go?” Sophia mumbled, the day after, her little face red and scrunched up in all her displeasure, and her hand steadfastly holding on to Elio’s trousers. 

“I have to go and work, Soph.”

The child sniffed, pulled at Elio’s trousers, pouting, tears in her eyes already. She was a quiet child usually, but with Elio, she felt at ease, comfortable in showing her emotions. 

Stood in the middle of the sitting room, Oliver sighed. 

“Can’t you ask for Jamie to come and take his lesson here instead?” He asked, looking from the sobbing Sophia to his husband, who was fixing his shirt in the mirror. 

Elio shook his head. 

“You know that poor kid is bedridden. It’s a lot for him to even sit at his own piano.”

He gave himself another look in the mirror, and then crouched down, let Sophia hug her arms around his neck and lifted her up, carrying her as he walked towards Oliver. 

“Oliver will keep you company, Soph,” Elio said, stopped in front of his husband, letting the little girl look up at him. “You two will have fun, I promise.” 

Sophia gazed up into Oliver’s face. Still pouting, but also kind of interested, now that Elio had said it was okay. 

Elio looked up into Oliver’s eyes as well, smiled softly; lifted on tiptoes to kiss his mouth. 

“I’ll put you down now, because Oliver’s arm is still getting better, so he can’t hold you just yet,” he told the girl. “You will help him, won’t you?”

And Sophia nodded, still looking up at Oliver, her blue eyes huge - her curious, hesitant gaze returned by Oliver, in an expression that was so similar, they might as well have been twins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just trying to write as much as I can when I have some free time... and posting what I can to avoid making you wait too long. 
> 
> Leave me a comment and let me know what you think <3


	87. Milk and honey

Elio had told him what a quiet child Sophia could be; so Oliver was not surprised to see that she was, indeed, shy and reserved once Elio had left. 

Her face was still a little red from when she had been crying, although Elio had crouched down and kissed her cheek before leaving, and she’d hugged him and he’d hugged her back, and it seemed like she felt better. 

Oliver looked at her, now that they were alone, and she looked at him in return. Pulling at a strand of blonde hair that fell in front of her ear, peeking up at him and pursing her lips, unsure. 

Oliver didn’t know what to do. Was he supposed to ask her what she wanted to do? To ask her if she needed anything? 

Sophia was a four year old child, and Oliver didn’t think she would know much about, or have an answer to those questions. 

“Are you tired?” he decided to ask. 

Sophia shook her head no. 

Of course; she’d only just woken up an hour ago. 

“You hungry?”

Sophia, once again, shook her head. 

Oliver cleared his throat. She was still looking up at him, in curiosity and a little bit of distrust. He had no idea what a four year old might like to do; there was, really, nothing there to entertain her. 

And then, as if by coincidence - Oliver would have said, a stroke of luck - from outside, Rufus barked. 

“Oofus!” Sophia squeaked, her lisp impeding the correct pronunciation of the dog’s name. 

“Ah, yes. Rufus.” Oliver nodded, walked towards the door, and peeked outside, calling him.

From where he was trying to chase a pigeon, Rufus looked at him, his tongue instantly out and his tail wagging, still puppy-like in his excitement. 

He barked again, and raced to the door, jumping at Oliver’s feet. 

“Here, Rufus. Here. I’ve got someone who wants to play with you.”

Sophia’s eyes had gone round and shining, and she walked towards the dog, put her little hand on his head. Rufus yapped, tried to lick her fingers. Made her laugh. 

Oliver looked around, spotting Rufus’s makeshift ball made of old rags on the floor, and picked it up, waving it in front of him to get him interested, and to keep Sophia amused. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver made some milk and honey for Sophia later that day, had some tea himself. His arm ached a little, although the annoying sensation was fading slowly the more days that went by - but Oliver decided not to take any valerian root or even whisky right now to numb the feeling. Not when he was looking after Sophia, anyway. 

She asked him questions. 

How old was Oliver? How old was Elio? 

And Rufus? Why did they live there? Was Elio looking after some other child right now? Could she have a dog just like Rufus? 

Sat on the sofa, and looking at the child as she scratched Rufus behind one ear, Oliver tried to answer as best as he could. She was so full of energy, and Oliver now realised why Elio thought it would be good for her to spend time with another kid her age. 

But the hours, at least, went by fast. 

By the time he realised it, it was mid-afternoon; and soon, Rufus lifted his ears, wagged his tail, ran to the door and barked, as he usually did when Elio was back. 

Elio laughed when his dog ran to him. He put down his bag, looked towards the sofa, where Oliver and Sophia sat.

“How is everyone?”

“Did you know that Oofus is twenty years old?” Sophia piped up, her eyebrows knitted, her face tilted to the side in puzzlement. 

“No. I said Elio is twenty years old, not Rufus, Sophia,” Oliver said, around a chuckle. Sophia looked at him, seemingly even more confused. 

Elio walked over, holding a still yapping Rufus in his arms; smiling, himself, evidently amused. 

“Now, Rufus would be very old, if he was twenty, don’t you think Soph?” he replied. He put Rufus down on the sofa next to the child, and went to peck Oliver’s lips. 

Oliver took the boy’s hand in his own; sighed. He was certainly glad that Elio was back. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The evening, for them, was just as busy as the day. 

Elio cooked, and Oliver helped, soup and potatoes for the three of them, leftover chicken and bones for Rufus. 

Soon, Sophia fussed over her dinner; she wasn’t hungry, she didn’t want to eat, she didn’t want to sit at the table. 

Oliver wanted to say something, but he found he didn’t really know what; he looked at his young husband, who didn’t even need to be told - leaving his food at the table, Elio stood, picked Sophia up and took her to the sofa, sat down with her, dried her tears. He took one of his books, and showed her all the pictures in it. Told her that, if she managed to be a good girl and sit there for a little while, finding all the drawings in the book while Elio and Oliver finished eating and cleaned up, Elio would read her a story in bed. 

And amazingly, Sophia nodded, her eyes eager, sat up on the cushion primly and properly and held the book in her hands, leafing through it, leaving them to finish their dinner. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And even later, that night, Oliver had been sitting out in the patio for close to one hour before Elio appeared. 

Oliver smiled up at him, softly. Watched him, as he sat down on the steps next to him. 

There was silence, for a while.

Oliver took a sip of his beer. 

“When did you become such a natural with children?”

He had been thinking about this, Elio and children, Elio and Sophia, for a while.

But especially tonight, especially seeing him deal with a child’s tantrums, with her crying, Oliver had been so impressed. It had been difficult for him, to spend a whole day with a four year old, to try and understand her, talk to her, entertain her. And yet Elio made it look easy. 

The boy laughed, softly. Wrapped his arms around his knees. 

“I don’t know. I’m an only child and I’ve never really - I’ve never looked after other kids. But growing up I - I think I wanted a brother or a sister. So maybe, I don’t know. I’ve kind of always waited for it to happen.” He shook his head, looked away. “I mean, this makes no sense. I don’t know. I don’t even know if I’m good at it at all.”

“You are. Very.” Oliver took another sip of beer. Kept his eyes on Elio. 

And the boy shrugged. 

“Maybe, I’ve just - maybe I’ve just taken after Mafalda. When she raised me.”

He was looking away, towards the road, the shapes in the horizon, the only things they could see in the darkness of the night around them. 

Oliver knew that Elio missed his family. That would never change. 

“Hey,” he murmured. Put his beer down,raised his good arm to stroke a curl away from Elio’s forehead. “Are you tired?”

Elio looked at him. “A little.”

Oliver nodded. Nudged Elio again, pulled him against himself. Made him tangle his legs with his on the step.

“It’s Sunday, tomorrow. You don’t have to play at the church. Why don’t we do something together? We could go to the market. Or to that puppet theatre in Aurora. Or - wherever you want.”

He felt Elio move against him. His thick, soft curls brushing the underside of Oliver’s chin and neck, as he raised his face to look at him. 

“Really?”

Oliver nodded. “Sure.”

“Oh, yes, please let’s.” Even in the darkness, Oliver could see Elio smiling wide. Happy. 

He leant down, nuzzled his lips. Kissed them, once, twice; so gently. Imagined they tasted like the cherries they shared their colour with. 

When Oliver kissed him again, a moment later, it didn’t stop there. Elio opened his mouth for him. And Oliver pushed into the kiss, letting his tongue stroke Elio’s, letting their breaths mingle. Letting his good hand slide down the boy’s shoulder, his rib cage, his thigh, pull a soft moan from him as it explored, gently, without any demand. 

It felt like the beginning, almost. Like when it was new. And in a way, it was. Something, something important, was new in their life now. 

Oliver kept kissing, kept breathing with Elio. Enjoying it; enjoying them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are what keeps me going. Please, don’t forget to let me know what you think. Or just that you’re reading!! X


	88. Sharing

“We need to sort out a new cot for Sophia,” Elio murmured one night, as he curled up in bed next to Oliver. “Or she’ll keep asking to sleep in ours.”

Sophia had been with them for almost a week now, and she still slept on the little makeshift bed in the sitting room. 

Supine on the mattress, Oliver sighed. Turned his face towards his husband, towards his naked back. The cover only rode up to his hipbones. 

“I don’t want you letting her sleep here any more.” He spoke, and his voice was low, serious enough that Elio stopped wiggling gently to find a position to sleep in and waited, trying to read into Oliver’s mood. “We have to have some boundaries.”

Elio turned around. On his tummy, supporting himself on his elbow. His curls were messy as he’d been laying on the pillow. 

“I didn’t think it was a bad thing.”

“This is not her bed, Elio. This is for you and I.” Oliver looked into his eyes. His voice was firm. “We need to have boundaries, we need to have our space.”

He held the boy’s gaze, and Elio stared. Uncomprehending at first; then blinked, bit his lower lip. 

“It was just for that time-“

“Yes, it was once. And I want it to stay that way.” Oliver softened his voice. “This is were we sleep, naked. Sometimes this is the only time we have alone, when we are both working during the day. I still want to have that, I still want you to myself, at least at night.”

As he spoke, he realised he didn’t even know why he’d taken this so seriously. Perhaps it was sounding more serious that he’d intended. But Elio’s protests had riled him up a little; he just wanted to make a point. 

He liked Sophia, and he’d started to learn how to be with her, what to say and what to do - but that didn’t mean that there weren’t other aspects of his life that he still wanted to protect. 

He wanted to preserve his time alone with Elio, the way they were with each other, at night, when they had no defences and no cover ups and when they could communicate with things other than words. 

Oliver didn’t know if he was overreacting; but he was jealous of that. Of Elio, of that time with him. 

Elio nodded. 

“Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry,” he murmured. Contrite. 

Oliver reached out, cupped the boy’s cheek and guided him closer, to kiss him on the lips. 

Elio stayed quiet, still; but then, once Oliver let his lips go, he turned around, on his side, nudged Oliver flush against him, chest to his back. He reached behind for Oliver’s hand and the older man let him, let him grab his good hand and bring it around, in front of him, to suck two fingers inside his mouth. 

Elio moaned softly, quietly, when Oliver pushed those fingers inside him; and then, after a while, Oliver thrust properly into him from behind - his good hand on Elio’s concave abdomen, feeling his every breath, his own lips pressed against Elio’s sweaty nape and feeling the trembling of his body as the boy adjusted to the penetration. 

Elio moaned gently, but kept it down. Another compromise that they needed to make, but that was fine for Oliver, if he still got to have his time with Elio at night. 

Elio brought Oliver’s hand back around to his chest; hinted for him to pinch his nipples. 

“Want to suck you off,” Elio babbled, in between thrusts. And Oliver pressed his lips against his young husband’s nape, opened his mouth, sank his teeth into the pale skin there, holding Elio steady as his own hips snapped forward in a faster and faster rhythm. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver had gone into town with Sadie, a couple of days later, while Elio watched Sophia at home, just to load the wagon with supplies for both them and Sadie, Susan and Tilly. 

It was just a coincidence that he thought to pick up the paper; and a coincidence that he had the time and the will to go through it all, skimming the news and advertisements, until his eyes landed on an article in one of the last pages. On Beatrice’s photo; smiling, in a long dress, next to a distinct looking man. The same he’d seen, that day, when she came to leave Sophia with them.

The article talked about Thomas Halk, the rich owner of several gold mines, and how he’d just gotten married to a local woman. 

Oliver sighed. Shook his head to himself, put the newspaper away. 

“What’s up? You have a disapproving face,” Sadie said, loading a box into the back of the wagon. 

“Nothing. Nothing. I just. I don’t think Beatrice is ever going to come back for Sophia.”

Sadie’s eyebrows arched. 

“Oh?”

“I mean, not that I thought she would. From the beginning, since she dropped the kid off to us. But - she’s just gotten married now, to some millionaire guy. I have a feeling we won’t see her anymore.”

He climbed back up onto the wagon, and Sadie did the same, climbing on to the driver’s seat, taking hold of the reins. 

“Do you mind? That Sophia stays with you?” she asked. She didn’t need to mince her words; they knew each other too well.

Oliver looked out towards the road. 

“I don’t mind, of course, she’s my daughter, even though it feels still so weird to say that. It’s just been - sudden. You know.”

Sadie gave a whip of the reins, gave Oliver a look from the corner of her eye. She had a little smile on her face. 

“Suddenly is usually how people find out they’re having a child, anyway.”

Oliver nodded, rolled his eyes a little. 

“But you know what I mean.” He hesitated for a moment. “It’s - a process. It’s something we have to adjust to. Especially me, I... I’m finding it hard. Sharing.”

“Sharing your house with another person?” Sadie supplied.

“No. Sharing Elio. As bad as that might sound.” 

Oliver couldn’t believe he’d said that. That he’d admitted it. It had been in his head for days now, but he’d never said it out loud, and now, with Sadie, the only person who could persuade him into revealing such details into himself; even now, he kind of hoped the noise from the wagon and the horse galloping on the pebbly road would cover the sound of his voice, so that he could pretend he’d never said anything. 

Sadie didn’t react, for a moment. Then, she pulled on the reins, slowing her horse down as they approached the path to Oliver’s house. 

“I remember, you know. When we met, and I told you about Jake. You told me you didn’t believe in love. You didn’t think it would ever happen to you. And now look,” she turned towards him, a gentle smile on her face. “Look at you. I never thought I would have seen you so in love.”

She looked at him still, as the wagon slowly ground to a halt, and she was smiling at him even as Oliver’s expression - serious, thoughtful - didn’t change. 

He sighed. Gave her a brief smile, and then moved to jump off the wagon, and walk to the back to unload his stuff. 

They heard Rufus as he ran towards them,yapping, before they even saw him. Elio followed the dog - and he smiled at both of them, walked to help Oliver with their shopping, while Sadie scratched Rufus’s head. 

The sun was setting; it gave the sky a beautiful orange hue. Elio’s eyes, as he looked up at Oliver, were greener than usual. He looked flushed, his curls tousled, his shirt crumpled - the obvious consequences of spending the afternoon with a hyperactive four year old child. 

Oliver smiled, full of tenderness. He wrapped his arm around Elio’s slim waist, pulled the boy against himself, while they were standing behind the wagon, hidden from view. He leant over, and kissed his young husband. 

“Hey,” Elio chuckled. His eyes glittered. “Good trip?”

“Mmmmh.” Oliver leant towards him again, held him tighter. Hid his face into Elio’s collarbone. Breathed in his scent. 

“Oliver,” Elio’s voice sounded amused. “Are we letting Sadie carry our stuff inside by herself, then?”

And Oliver didn’t move. He kissed Elio’s shoulder; his warm skin. 

“I love you,” he just said, without raising his face from Elio, just standing there, and breathing him in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love your comments!!! If you are reading, let me know. ❤️


	89. We Will Be

__The day the bandages came off, Oliver found he could finally take a huge, relieved breath.

He hadn’t thought so at the beginning, but being limited to the use of only one arm had been a huge, life changing impediment. To go from being completely independent, being the one taking care of others in fact, to having to be cared for, to not being able to make food, to clean himself, even to ride properly - it had been slowly eroding at his patience, slowly driving him crazy. 

He’d cursed himself over and over for the recklessness of that night, for the price he had to pay now. Even though Elio kept telling him to stop beating himself up; that he was fine taking care of him now. 

But he was young, and now he had a child to look after, in addition to a ranch and a fully grown-up man to tend to. Oliver wanted the use of his broken arm back; it could never be too soon. 

He’d even told Elio. One night, on top of him, Elio’s legs wrapped high around Oliver’s hips. Oliver had to support himself on one arm and Elio had protested, concerned - and Oliver had had enough. He’d had enough of Elio having to be worried even when they were making love. 

He’d made him lie back, whispered a gentle, gentle reprimand in his ear, ‘if you are so worried, then lie back, baby, make it a little easier for me’. He wanted to tell him to be quiet, but he kissed him instead, moved on top of him, trying to enjoy himself, but missing Elio’s whines and moans and the way his body tensed and arched at the hard thrusts that he couldn’t deliver right now. 

“Wait til I take this thing off,” he growled quietly against the side of Elio’s throat. “I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll feel me inside of you for days.” 

He felt like he was slowly losing his mind. 

So then, the day his bandage came off, he took the excuse of being close to Sadie’s place and dropped Sophia off to them, the child bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet at the thought of getting to play with Rosie. 

“Can I stay until tomorrow?” she asked, hopeful blue eyes on Oliver, who shook his head. 

“Just today, Soph. We’ll come and pick you up later.”

Oliver took Elio to a hotel, ‘When did you even find out about this place?’ the boy asked, puzzled, amused. 

Oliver just shook his head. Nudged him towards their room up the stairs with a hand on the small of his back, a bottle of wine held in his other hand. 

There was only time for a sip, however, as Oliver felt so wired, and so full of desire, he couldn’t wait any longer. 

It wasn’t that sex was something he’d missed while injured; what he’d missed, was the feeling of being in control. Of taking what he wanted, what he needed from it, of making sure Elio was taken care of. Of giving him pleasure. 

“Oliver, be careful,” Elio protested, laughed, when Oliver lifted him up, held him against the wall, his slim thighs around Oliver’s waist and Oliver’s hands holding, grasping his flesh. 

Oliver didn’t even reply but kissed him, hard, held him up higher and Elio had to fasten his arms tighter around Oliver’s neck. He moaned in surprise at the manhandling and yet they moved with practiced ease, and Oliver looked up into Elio’s dark eyes as he pushed into him, then breathed into his mouth, swallowed the boy’s anxious breaths. He fucked him while he kissed him, right there against the wall, didn’t care if his healed arm was not as strong as the other one just yet, the muscles protesting. Elio was a twig, thin as a girl, not an extra ounce on his slim body, there was no reason for Oliver not to hold him in his arms, and finally, do as he wanted with him. 

Oliver came inside him; held him for a little longer, the boy’s trembling arms still knotted behind his head, kissing him; and then, he carried him to the bed and laid him down, sweaty and breathing hard, opened his legs, and kissed him between them, stroking him, until Elio arched his back again and tangled his fingers into his hair and squeezed, and called his name - and then Oliver hovered over Elio while he got his breath back, and whispered ‘I love you’ against his lips. 

“Fuck, Oliver,” Elio whispered, after. 

“Oh, I made you swear. I was that good, huh.”

Oliver was in a playful mood, adrenaline still cursing through his veins. He earned a slap to his leg in retaliation. 

And then, Elio was quiet for a moment. 

“Do you think you’ll always want me this much?” he asked later. His voice was rough, quiet. Oliver swore to himself that next time, he would make him scream even more. 

“You’re the younger one between us two,” Oliver chuckled, a hand over his forehead. “I think if anyone gets bored, that will be you.”

It wanted to be a joke, but it made Elio pout. He looked at Oliver from the corner of his eye; then turned around, on his side, his back to Oliver.

His skin, so ivory against the purple of the bedsheets - and what luck to have found that hotel, with the beds that made it look like a boudoir, the perfect place to hide away with a young, gorgeous lover - Oliver wanted to kiss him along his spine, down, down, to where he’d been with his mouth and his tongue no longer than mere minutes before.

But instead, he crawled closer, tightened an arm around Elio’s body. Pulled him back against himself, and with his hand, he forced his face back towards him. He kissed his red lips. 

“I will love you forever,” Oliver told him. He needed him to know. “I will never stop loving you.”

And Elio smiled against his mouth; his pout melting away. Letting Oliver envelope him in his arms, mouth in his curls. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Is mommy coming back?” Sophia asked that night, when Oliver and Elio went to pick her up. 

Susan looked at both of them. “I think it’s because she’s been with us women all day. And Rosie’s got her mommy, you know.”

Elio looked at her, then Oliver - and then crouched down in front of the little girl, whose eyes were already welling up. 

“Mommy’s still got some things to do,” he said, holding her hands in his. “But Oliver and I are here for you, you know?”

Sophia looked at him. Then up, at Oliver. 

“Rosie said Oliver is my daddy.” She reached out, tangled a little hand in Elio’s curls. Elio looked up at Oliver; his eyes wide. 

“Oliver is my daddy,” Sophia repeated. “Will you be my daddy too?”

Oliver looked, from Elio’s wide eyes, to Tilly’s awed ‘oh’ of surprise, to Susan’s pleased face. 

He nodded; and Elio, swallowed, and then nodded too. 

“Yes. Yes of course, Soph. We will be.” 

And Sophia nodded. And hugged him. Tightened her arms around his neck, ready to go home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeey don’t forget to leave a comment 🙃😉


	90. Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The piece Elio is playing at the beginning of the chapter is called Bella Notte, by Ludovico Einaudi (listen to it here: https://youtu.be/zXVEx86Mw08, or on Spotify)
> 
>  
> 
> I wanted to let you know in advance, in case you want to listen to it while you read.

_ **Two years later** _

 

 

The church was full. 

Sunday concerts had become more and more popular, the highlight of life in Aurora. And residents and visitors alike had now grown attached to Elio, and to his playing. 

He’d made a name for himself in the area, and, Oliver believed, in the whole state. People came specifically to hear him play. 

And Oliver could see why, had always been able to. Elio was a beautiful pianist. 

Oliver stood, watching, towards the back. Sophia next to him; a hand on her shoulder, while the child kept her eyes on Elio, did not look away, not even for a moment. 

She loved to hear him play. 

And next to them, Susan stood, also; a handkerchief held to her eye, her chest moving with quiet sobs. 

It was still so strange to see; Susan had never been a soft type of person. But Elio’s playing had this effect on people; on her. 

Oliver smiled. He was proud. He was so damn proud. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You have to tell everyone about me, too,” Sophia said, as they walked home that evening. It was a nice night, with a gentle breeze, for the middle of summer. They’d bought liquorice from the candy shop, on the way home. 

“Tell everyone?” Elio said, holding the child’s hand - looked down at her, amused. 

“Yes. When you are famous. I want to be a pianist, too.”

Elio looked up at Oliver, a self-conscious smile on his face. Oliver raised his eyebrows at him.

“I dont think I will be famous, Soph. But I will tell everyone about you, anyway.”

Sophia gave him a big smile; full of teeth, except for the one she was missing, a really adorable gap right in the front where her baby tooth had fallen off. 

It was surprisingly easy to persuade her to go to bed that night - it had been a long, exciting day in town, and she was exhausted. Elio tucked her in - she had her own, beautiful bedroom now, upstairs next to theirs, which Oliver had built himself - kissed her forehead, and then padded to their room, to wait for Oliver, the older man still downstairs cleaning up after dinner and settling the animals. Elio could hear Rufus bark, outside, at one thing or the other; and he smiled to himself. 

When Oliver appeared - washed; hairy chest in display, lose pants clinging to his strong hips - Elio smiled from where he lay, in bed, under the cover. He couldn’t wait to be in the arms of his husband. 

“Did you have a good day?” Oliver asked him, once they were laying together, Elio’s head on Oliver’s shoulder. Oliver’s naked body always ran so warm, and Elio snuggled up tighter against him. 

“Yes. I had a really good day,” he nodded, pressing his lips against Oliver’s collarbone. 

Oliver sighed. 

“I remember when you used to be so nervous about performing. Now look at you. So confident, and beautiful. And rightly so.”

Elio looked up at him - the smile on his face growing larger. He cupped Oliver’s cheek, stroked his cheekbone with a thumb. 

“If I am, it’s because of you and Soph,” he murmured. “You make me who I am. You make me strong.”

He watched, as Oliver smiled down at him. And then, he reached down to kiss him. Elio opened his mouth - the kiss was slow, gentle, but deep. They kissed for a few long minutes, and then Oliver pecked his lips, and moved down to his chest - and Elio closed his eyes, took a deep breath, feeling Oliver’s warm mouth on his nipple, held his hands in his hair and relaxed back, concentrated on the sensation, ready for what came after. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Can I go sleep over at Rosie’s house,” Sophia asked, for the tenth time that evening. 

Elio didn’t look away from the pot he was slowly stirring on the stove. Vegetable soup - he needed to keep an eye on it, or it would quickly burn. 

“Can you ask your dad when he comes home, Soph?”

Sophia crossed her arms around her chest. Elio could see her starting to stomp her feet soon. 

“But he’s still houuurs away! And why do I have to ask him!”

Elio continued to stir the pot, slowly. 

“He’s not hours away, honey. And you need to ask him because I think he wants you here when he comes back.”

He set the ladle away for a moment, turned to look at the table, at what needed to be still set on it. 

“Why do I need to be here when he comes back!” Sophia was full on pouting. 

Elio sighed, gave her a little smile. 

“He wants both of us to be here when he comes back. He’s been at work all day and he wants both of us here to make him feel better and less tired when he’s done with everything he has to do.”

He leant over, kissed the grumbling child on the head. 

“Come. Help me cook. Don’t you want to learn how to make soup? And we can make pudding after, if you want.”

“I don’t want to learn how to cook. I don’t need to learn that - I want to be a scientist when I grow up,” Sophia said, her pout still in place, her little arms still crossed tightly around her body. But she still followed Elio to the pantry, unable to hide her curiosity, and Elio smiled, chuckled quietly to himself when she started looking for the right flour for apple pie just a moment later, her little tantrum forgotten. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Oliver came back, tired, and dusty, he still took the time to smile at Sophia and kiss her head, and then walk over to Elio, kiss him on the mouth. 

He smelled so good; Elio closed his eyes, nudged his forehead into Oliver’s sternum. 

“Go get changed,” he said, his voice low. It took so little for him to be turned on by Oliver, even after so many years. There was this connection, this tie between them, that tugged at Elio’s insides every time his husband was near and made him moan for him. 

And Oliver got the message every single time. 

“Maybe you could come to the bath room with me, later? Help me wash. Wash with me?” He murmured, low enough to keep Sophia from hearing him, holding Elio’s gaze, until Elio nodded. And Oliver smiled, stroked his lips for a moment. “You become more beautiful every day. Right in front of my goddamn eyes,” he growled, his voice so husky that Elio’s abdomen twitched. 

And then he was gone, and Elio had to close his eyes a moment, take a breath, return to their evening and their dinner and looking after their child, who now sat at the table, her picture book open in front of her, blissfully distracted. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Oliver left for work that Sunday - he didn’t usually work on Sundays, but occasionally took extra jobs when there were emergencies, like a broken roof, or a damaged fence, things which paid well for his time - he held Elio against the wall for a long minute, kissing his mouth gently. 

“You staying home today?” he asked, when he let him go - and Elio stood on tiptoes for one more kiss, Oliver’s strong, muscled arm around his slim waist. 

“Yes,” Elio nodded. “Sophia wants me to help her reread that story, and I’m making strawberry jam. It takes a long time to cook.” 

Sophia was learning to read and write - she and Rosie were homeschooled by a lady Susan knew, who taught children in her own house, not far from them. She was currently obsessed with a story she’d read, and wanted Elio to reread it with her. 

Oliver smiled. Kissed Elio’s cheek. “Good boy,” he whispered against his skin, and Elio squeezed strands of his hair in his fingers where he had them plunged deep into Oliver’s nape. 

With Sophia’s arrival, two years before, plans for their own ranch had slowed down a little. They needed more immediate funds for her necessities, and so Oliver kept up his carpentry work even while he was renovating and expanding their home.

However, it was still their plan to be able to survive on their ranch alone; they had more horses, now, were planning on purchasing Arabians when they could. Breeding Arabians could be immensely profitable. 

But then one night, after having read Sophia to sleep, after having watched Rufus curl up on her bed with her, the both of them warm and content, Elio had blurted out something. In bed together, with Oliver’s hand just starting to explore his inner thighs, pads of his fingers just skimming his entrance - Elio had said, “I wish we had another child.”

Oliver had stopped his movements, and looked up, into Elio’s eyes, even through the darkness in the room. 

“I wish we could have a brother or sister for Sophia.” Elio felt the need to repeat. Explain himself - even though it wasn’t much of an explanation. 

His eyes were wide and bottomless as he looked up at Oliver. 

“It would be a lot of extra work,” Oliver said, his hand pulling back, but still holding Elio to himself. “And money.”

“I know.” Elio looked down, closed his eyes, pushed his mouth into Oliver’s shoulder. “We don’t have to. I just wish we could. I’ve always been an only child, and I’ve always wondered how it would be to have a sibling. I wish I could give that to Sophia.”

He opened his eyes again, looked up at Oliver; smiled, to show that everything was fine. 

He wasn’t upset; it was just a little bit of wishful thinking, a little bit of speaking out loud. He felt free to share his thoughts, and his desires with Oliver; and that could only be a good thing. 

“You’re so young,” Oliver murmured, holding his gaze. “Are you sure you’d really want to raise two children, at only twenty two?”

His gaze was open, clear, even beyond his knitted eyebrows, the worry that he always harboured when it came to Elio, and his needs, his dreams, his well-being. 

And that was exactly why Elio felt that he could answer the way he did. 

“With you, I would.” He reached out; kissed Oliver’s lips. Held the palm of his hand on his cheek. “With you, I feel like I can do anything. Because you’re there for me, you’re there to guide me, and to help me, to shield me from danger, to protect me. You’re there to ask what you need of me, what you want me to give you, and then you’re there to give me what I need in return. You’re there to remind me that I belong to you, my body and my mind and my soul belong to you, and I would never want it to be any different.”

He kissed Oliver again, tucked his head under his chin.

“I thank that day that you found me and rescued me. I’ve been yours since that very moment, I’ve loved you since then. So yeah. With you, I feel like I can do anything.”

When Oliver blinked, next, he was startled to feel tears, lightly running down from his eyes to his cheeks. 

Elio’s head, securely held under his chin, didn’t move; Oliver could smell the heady, sweet, warm scent of his hair. 

He knew there wasn’t anything to be said. Elio had already said everything. 

They could have another child if they wanted to. They could adopt, one of the children who got left at the church’s door so often, that the Reverend always tried to find a new family for. 

They could have their own ranch, their horse ranch with beautiful Arabians that they could breed and sell, so that Oliver would no longer have to work long hours as a carpenter for others. 

They could follow Elio when he performed, watch him create his music, cheer and support his talent, the love he had for the piano. 

And then, at night, they could lie in bed. Just like this, just them two, alone. Looking into each other’s eyes, sometimes sharing their bodies with each other, sometimes just kissing and talking, just touching, breathing together. Just belonging to each other. 

They could do anything; their life could be beautiful. 

And it was just about to start. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this chapter concludes the main story of The World For Us. 
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH for all the love you have sent my way. I really hope you like this last chapter too! Your comments have made me so happy, have made me feel as if my story was really coming to life because of how many of you were following it. I am so thankful! 
> 
> Please make sure you leave a comment to his chapter too. I might come back to the story with one-off chapters later - perhaps if there’s anything else you would like to see from their world. 
> 
> Again thank you. And loads of love from me.xx


	91. One Word Prompt: ELEGANT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! I’m not sure if you’ve seen on my Twitter, but I had the idea of writing little one-shots of The World For Us based on one word prompts that readers may want to send me. 
> 
> @VMcgillyvray (Midlifecrisis) on Twitter sent me the word ‘ELEGANT’. Here’s the one shot -it’s only brief, but I hope you like it! 
> 
>  
> 
> Please do send me any one-word prompts you’d like, in the comments or on twitter! Just one word is fine. If you have a preference as to the setting (at the end of the TWFU story? While they’re still at camp? Before/after Sophia? Etc) do let me know also. 
> 
> Thank you! X

Elio bowed down in front of the audience in the church who’d just witnessed his skills on the piano once again. By now, everyone in Aurora knew how good he was; and they all clapped, some stood up, and Elio smiled and bowed, cheeks flushed.

After saying goodbye to the Reverend, and as people started to trickle out of the church, Elio walked down the side of the pews towards Oliver, who stood near the entrance, waiting for him. 

It was a special night. New Year’s Eve; Elio was wearing his best outfit - a cream shirt over beige trousers, the luminous colours contrasting beautifully with the dark chestnut of his curls. He felt good in his skin, like that. 

But one look at his husband, and he was reminded, for the hundredth time that evening, for every look that Elio had given him, how good Oliver looked, too. 

He wore a dark grey. almost black suit. Tailored to perfection for his tall, well-built body. His blond hair was styled with a side parting, he had a well-kept beard on his chin and cheeks. He even wore a bow-tie, and Elio wanted to run up to him, jump into his arms and kiss him. 

“You look so good,” Elio said instead, trying hard to contain himself in public, and managing, somehow.

“You saw me earlier,” Oliver protested playfully, the look in his eyes and the smile on his face impish as he reached out with a hand to place it gently on the small of Elio’s back. 

Elio blushed, but made himself continue in his flirting. “You know what I mean. You look so elegant.” 

“Mmmh.” He felt Oliver’s hand as he nudged him lightly towards the exit of the church. Their wagon was waiting outside. 

“Sophia is with Rosie, at Susan’s house,” Oliver murmured into Elio’s ear as they walked out. The quiet, private sound of his voice gave Elio a full-body shiver. 

“Take me home, husband,” Elio murmured back. 

Oliver’s hand slid around, from Elio’s back to the side of his waist, for a moment before he let him go. 

“Really? I wanted to take you out, get some food,” Oliver growled softly, his eyes playful and knowing. 

“No,” Elio smiled, his eyes sure. “No. Take me home.”

They’d arrived at their wagon, with Arthur waiting patiently for them. Oliver kissed the back of Elio’s hand, looking right into his eyes; let him go. 

“Your wish is my command,” he said, voice sultry like a caress, as he walked to the wagon to do as Elio had asked. 


	92. One Word Prompt: BROTHER and BOSSY BOTTOM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing my One word prompt one shots for this story! 
> 
> This time I have combined 2 requests I’ve received on Twitter: ‘Brother’, by @CatWithSausages (the cutest username and pic ever) and ‘Bossy bottom’ by @Elemental_Pea (though I couldn’t include the exact words as they weren’t in use back in the 1900s, but I hope you still like it!)
> 
> Keep sending your prompts!!! Xx

Elio had seen the lady’s eyes before she even spoke. The way she watched Oliver, as he leaned over the kitchen table, examining the plans she had brought to show how she wanted her fence built. 

“Let me go and see what material I have in the shed,” Oliver said, rubbing his palms on his trousers, fully in work mode. He walked out of the house, and Elio eyed the woman again as he pretended to busy himself with making tea by the stove. 

“Your master - he’s rather striking, isn’t he,” the lady commented. 

Elio was expecting something of the sort, though he still set his jaw. He had his back to her now, but he could imagine her expression, hear the clogs in her head turn as she thought up a scenario in which Oliver came asking for her. 

She giggled. 

“And, Lord. He seems so well versed at what he does. Such a safe pair of hands. Beauty and skill - he’s so wasted living in this big ol’ house by himself.”

“He’s not alone,” Elio blurted out. He made himself not turn around towards her, least she saw the irritation in his face, but he couldn’t make himself keep quiet. “He’s taken. I think he’s taken.”

“Oh.” The lady’s voice sounded disappointed. Elio turned around now, clutched the rag he had been using to clean the stove earlier in a further pretence of being busy working. 

“That’s peculiar. I’ve never seen him with any female companion, and believe me I do keep an eye on him.... oh. Such a shame.”

“A real shame,” Elio echoed, trying to keep the bite out of his voice as much as he could, but probably failing. She was way too immersed in her daydream about Oliver to notice, anyway. 

“Perhaps he has a brother?” she asked then. She pulled out a little mirror from her purse, started blotting lip stain on her mouth. And Elio wasn’t even sure if she was being serious or not. “Perhaps you can let me know, darling. If Oliver isn’t free,” and here she emphasised the ‘if’, “then I’m sure his brother would do just fine for me.”

When Oliver returned a few moments later, to tell her what material he would need, Elio kept his eyes on them carefully as they agreed on the work to be done; watched her attentively when Oliver smiled in farewell, walked her to the door. Elio set his jaw, narrowed his eyes at the way she giggled to him, demurred shamelessly. 

Unbelievable. 

“That’s going to be quite a good piece of work,” Oliver said as he closed the door once she left, walking to the table to fold the plans back up. “Miss Riley is rich. Doesn’t mind spending to get things done.”

Elio rolled his eyes. His husband was so clueless sometimes; it was almost endearing to see. 

“No, she doesn’t mind,” he parroted, almost to himself, and then walked to his husband. Stood on tiptoes and wrapped his arms around Oliver’s neck, and kissed him. 

Kissed him, intensely, pushing himself against him, and slowly walking back towards the sofa. 

“Elio,” Oliver protested, an amused smile on his face betraying his real feelings. He took Elio’s face between his hands, held him so that their mouths were an inch apart. “What’s going on?”

Elio didn’t respond. Just started undoing the buttons on Oliver’s shirt, quickly. 

“Baby,” Oliver tried again - but then Elio guided his hands on himself, on the small of his back, down to his backside, and he knew that it would elicit the reaction he wanted. He closed his eyes in pleasure when he felt Oliver’s large hands hold him, squeeze his flesh, when he heard the low rumble of the purr from Oliver’s chest tightly pressed against his own. 

Elio used all his strength to lead Oliver to the sofa, unbuttoned his trousers and then nudged him to sit down, and quickly removed his own clothes. 

He relished the feeling of Oliver’s eyes, hungry now, watching him, staring at his nude body, his chest, his belly, his sex. Elio let himself be looked at while he reached for their oil, coated his hand and stroked Oliver with it. So impatient. 

He wanted this now. 

He closed his eyes tightly when he knelt over his husband. Oliver’s hands didn’t move from where they waited, empty, by his thighs; he was letting Elio do all the work. And Elio relished it. 

He lowered himself down, his hands on Oliver’s shoulders for balance, and forced himself to keep his eyes open and watch Oliver’s expression. The way he tensed, growled low in his throat as Elio took him inside his body. 

Elio kissed him on the mouth then, relishing the pinch deep in his insides, growling low in his throat, too, that woman’s face and her entitled expression coming back to haunt his thoughts. He started riding Oliver, moving his hips up and down, moaning into Oliver’s mouth - quietly first, then more loudly. Reminding Oliver of what he could give him; of how good he was, how good he felt. 

Reminding himself. 

They fucked and kissed with intent, with urgency. Soon, Elio’s fringe was damp, stuck to his forehead; his chest was pumping fast, the movement of his hips becoming uncoordinated. He felt Oliver’s hands slide up to his narrow hips, to hold then and to guide him, as he always did when they made love. But Elio growled softly in his husband’s mouth, his hands flew down to swat Oliver’s away. He redoubled his efforts, leaving Oliver’s mouth and moaning openly, demandingly. His body started contracting soon enough, his head spinning with his orgasm; but he smiled in his husband’s mouth, his eyes closed, as he felt Oliver coming inside him. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You took control there, didn’t you?” Oliver commented later, as they spooned on the couch, waiting for their heartbeats to slow down. His thumb circled Elio’s nipple, lazily, delicately. 

“Are you not happy?” Elio replied. He caught Oliver’s wandering hand, brought it to his mouth as the older man held him, chest against Elio’s back. 

“Oh, I am. Very.” Oliver said. Giggled, when Elio bit his thumb gently. “Just wondering what brought this on.”

Elio leant back. Gave him a look. 

“Do you have a brother, Oliver?” 


	93. One Word Prompt: CURLS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a one word prompt sent to me by @dtempera2 on Twitter (thank you!)
> 
> Hope you like it! 
> 
> Keep sending me one word prompts! I think I’m going to see them all during the three years in between part 1 and part 2. 
> 
> You can send them to me here or on Twitter. To those who have already sent me some - I’ve seen them, and will write them up! :)

Oliver had always loved Elio’s hair. How dark it was, thick, how it curled up in ringlets, when it grew longer, that perfectly piled up on the boy’s head. 

This time, though, the curls stood out on the cream cotton pillow for a different reason. They were damp, sweaty. 

Oliver pulled up to half-sitting on the bed, as calmly as he could, because Elio was still asleep and he didn’t want to wake him. Gently, he brushed a few strands of corvine hair away from the boy’s forehead. What he saw worried him even more: Elio was frowning in his sleep, as if in pain. 

When they’d gone to sleep the night before, after making love, Elio had seemed okay. Just tired, and he’d slipped into unconsciousness quicker than usual, but nothing particularly out of the ordinary. 

And now, instead, he was laying in bed, drenched in sweat, his face flushed. 

Oliver set his jaw, and pulled up to sitting. He knew the worst thing you could do fora fever was increase the body temperature, and so he removed the blanket that covered Elio’s body. The boy shivered, and frowned deeper, and Oliver stroked his hair gently in an attempt to soothe. 

He felt panic rise through his chest. 

In all his years as an outlaw he’d of course had to deal with illnesses, injuries and fevers, both in himself and others. But when it came to Elio, it all became more complicated. It terrified Oliver. 

Nonetheless, he needed to help Elio. 

Oliver walked quickly downstairs, in search of rags. He walked out, barefoot, to the well, for cold water in which to submerge the fabric; he returned to their bedroom to place the chilled compresses onto Elio’s forehead, his chest, his legs. 

“Oliver,” Elio moaned, his eyes half-open. He tried to sit up, but Oliver held him down, gently. 

“I’m cold,” Elio murmured quietly. 

Oliver stroked more damp curls off his forehead. 

“I know. I know. But this is good for you. This will help you.”

Elio closed his eyes back up, burrowed his face into the pillow. And Oliver wished Susan and Sadie lived a little closer. If they did, he could have gone to call them, ask them to stay with his young husband while Oliver went to the doctor’s to find medicine for him. 

He stroked his large hand through Elio’s hair again, brushing back the damp curls. He looked at the boy’s face. The scarlet in his cheeks, the beads of sweat on his forehead. His lips were dry, and Oliver sighed, reluctant to leave Elio even for a couple of minutes, but he knew that he had to get him some water. 

When he came back, he gently coaxed Elio to drink as much as he could, the boy laying back down on the bed after, seeking the calmness of rest. 

Oliver tried hard to remember what he’d done before, when he himself had had a fever. He cursed himself for not knowing more, but the truth was that he’d just let it run its course, like with all mild ailments. Because sometimes the medicine was even worse than the illness. 

This time, though, he was scared to death. Laying beside Elio, he didn’t take his eyes off him. Stroked his hair and cheek gently, trying to soothe, trying to reassure. Wishing there was more he could do to make him feel better. 

“You know that you’re the thing I love most in this wretched world,” Oliver murmured, softly. Even though Elio could not hear him. “I have never loved anyone or anything as much as I love you. You are my whole life. My heart and my soul. My happiness.” He lay down, pushed his face into Elio’s curls, smelling his warm, familiar, innocent scent. “I could not live without you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver awoke to someone moving beside him. 

He batted his eyelashes open, ridding himself of the haze of sleep quickly, his senses immediately alert and his mind aflame with the memory of Elio’s illness. 

He pulled up to sitting, and saw Elio, turning around in bed to lie supine, his eyes scrunched into a frown, his lips in a pout. 

Oliver ran his hand through the curls on Elio’s forehead; and exhaled, full of relief, when he found them dry, his skin no longer burning up. 

“My head hurts,” Elio murmured, cleared his throat when his voice came out weak.

“You had a fever. I think it only just broke now.”

Elio opened one eye, then the other. Looked at Oliver, swallowing. 

“I felt really cold.”

“I know,” Oliver nodded. “But it helped.”

He reached out, covered Elio’s hand in his. It was warm, but not hot, he noted, feeling like yes, he could breathe again.

Elio’s hand squeezed his fingers. 

“I love you too,” the boy whispered. His red lips dry, but stretched into a soft smile. 


	94. One Word Prompt: LIBIDINOUS and STORYTELLING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more word prompts for this one shot! These were LIBIDINOUS, requested by @phalser4893 (ha! Tough one ;) and STORYTELLING by @Emmapurple1, both on twitter. Hope you like it! 
> 
> Keep sending me one word prompts, I’m having fun! :)

It was a rainy night, and they were curled up on the couch, Elio wrapped in Oliver’s arms. Kissing. 

The tap-tap of the rain drops on the roof provided the background for their sighs and breaths; the gentle creaking of the flames in the fireplaces gave them the warmth they needed, as Elio slowly undid the buttons on Oliver’s shirt, one by one, as Oliver’s hand rose under Elio’s camise, lifting the cotton edges, exposing the smooth skin underneath. 

“This reminds me of a book I read, once,” Oliver stopped for a moment to murmur. “The rain outside. The wind on our window.”

“Tell me,” Elio kissed his lips, pulled back a little. 

Oliver’s eyebrows rose in question. 

“Tell me the story. In the book.” Elio’s voice was warm; languid. Testament to his body, drunk in warmth and desire. 

“There’s nothing to tell,” Oliver chuckled softly, kissed Elio’s chin, the edge of his jaw. His hand rose up further, his palm flat over Elio’s sternum. 

“I want to know the story,” Elio protested, playful, fussy. Peppering kisses on Oliver’s mouth. 

And his husband, then, smiled. 

“Fine.” He reached up, tapped his index finger on Elio’s bottom lip. Gently slid it down along his chin, down to his throat. “It was called, The Libidinous Tale of a Boy who Wouldn’t Keep Quiet.”

“No it wasn’t!,” Elio pulled back, laughed out loud, his eyes full of mirth. “You big liar.”

“It was too,” Oliver held Elio against himself, then nuzzled behind his ear, down alongside his neck. Kissed the skin right there. Once, twice. 

“There once was a boy, a spirited, fiery boy, who would not keep quiet when he was alone with his husband.” Oliver kissed his neck again. Once, twice. “It was raining, and they were warm. Their bellies were full. The boy was so good at taking care of his husband, and they were happy. But his husband wanted to kiss him, and the boy kept talking, and talking, and talking.” 

He chuckled when Elio tried to pull away, pretending to be put out, and grabbed the boy’s hand in his, held him still. 

“But the husband kept going.” Oliver made his voice drop lower; made it come from his chest. “The husband wanted the boy. Wanted him, tight against his chest. Wanted to undress him, slowly; wanted to feel the boy’s perfect hands as they undressed him, too.”

Oliver caught one of Elio’s hands gently with his, brought it to his mouth; kissed his fingers, one by one. Then, he guided the hand down, to the buttons on his own trousers. 

He leant closer to Elio, kissed his neck and throat again; slowly, lingering. 

“The boy kept talking, and talking, but his husband just wanted to kiss him. Kiss his neck,” and Oliver kissed him, just over his Adam’s apple. “Kiss his collarbone,” and he did. Then, his hand pushed Elio’s shirt up, exposing more skin. “Kiss his chest. Kiss down his belly,” and here, he chuckled when Elio pushed his fingers into his hair, tried to stop him, coquettishly, no real intention behind his gesture. “Oliver,” the boy protested, just for show, his cheeks flushed. 

Oliver smiled up at him, and then kissed Elio’s groin, over the fabric of his trousers, and then pulled them down. For all his protests, Elio promptly lifted his hips to be undressed more quickly. 

He arched his spine, closed his eyes, sank his fingers deeper into Oliver’s hair, and breathed out, a sound right from his chest as his husband took him in his mouth, swallowed around him.

Oliver went down on him for a couple of minutes before pulling up, and, his hands on Elio’s slim hips, he made him lie back, completely, on to the couch. 

“In the end, though, the boy fell under his husband’s spell.” He leant over Elio; guided the boy’s thighs to wrap around hissides, spoke on his mouth. “For his husband was a famous, all-powerful sorcerer, one who could make anyone do his bidding, especially the boy.”

“Oliver!” Elio said, against Oliver’s mouth. “God. You were doing so well with your storytelling. And now you made it funny!”

“Oh, is that so, you little imp?” Oliver smiled wide. He ran his hands up Elio’s sides, reached his armpits and tickled. “Is that so? Perhaps I should make you into a sprite in this story, or a silly goblin?”

Elio was laughing, trying to breathe and bat Oliver’s hands away at the same time. “Stop! Stop, stop, oh god, you win, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Oliver tickled him for a few more moments and then took pity, and took Elio’s flushed face into his palms instead, looked into his eyes. Kissed his mouth. 

“So will the boy keep quiet, and let his husband make love to him, now?” he asked, his voice low, and warm, and gently teasing. Elio was hard still against Oliver’s abdomen. 

And the boy smiled, and let Oliver kiss him again. 

Nodded. 

“Yes. He will.”


	95. One Word Prompt: POSSESSIVENESS and FLOWERS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @Parleroumourir on twitter requested a one shot about Oliver being possessive and jealous of Elio (with a happy ending) and @va_nessa_bm_87 requested ‘flowers’ 
> 
> I hope you like this!!

It all started with a look. 

The look that the paper boy gave Elio, the smile that he directed his way. 

Oliver couldn’t hold Elio’s hand as they walked, of course, but he stepped closer to his young husband. 

The paper boy did not seem deterred. 

“How are you today, Elio? Still busy with the new horses?”

Elio smiled back, quickly and then he shrugged. “I don’t mind! It’s a good way to be busy.”

He waved in goodbye, and Oliver observed the whole exchange, saw the eyes of the paper boy lingering on Elio’s back as he said, hope to see you tomorrow then!

“How do you know that guy?” Oliver asked, quietly, as they stopped by the grocer on the way to where they’d hitched Arthur. 

“Mmh?” Elio was distracted; he needed to buy carrots and onions. 

“That guy. The paper guy. How do you know him.”

Oliver usually was at work when Elio ran his errands, so he didn’t get to witness his interactions in town. 

“Oh? I don’t know, I don’t really know him. He just talks to me, sometimes.”

“It didn’t seem like you don’t know him,” Oliver rebutted, his voice raising a little. Elio looked at him, eyes wide. Cleared his throat, and looked back at the clerk, handed him the money for the vegetables. 

Oliver could feel himself tense, could feel irrational thoughts bubble to the surface and so he swallowed, pursed his mouth. 

“I will wait for you outside,” he said, and left the shop. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They rode the carriage back in silence, Oliver telling himself, over and over, that he needed to keep his emotions in check. But the thought of anyone being that familiar with Elio threw his thoughts into chaos; the thought of anyone sharing Elio’s time when Oliver wasn’t there, looking at him a certain way, wanting to see him again - made his hands want to clench into fists. 

He told Elio to go inside while he sorted out the wagon and Arthur, and Elio did so without a word. When Oliver was done, he came in to see Elio at the stove, the water boiling in a pot. 

Rufus barked and jumped at Oliver’s feet; but he just stood in the middle of the room, looking at his husband. 

Elio poured water into two mugs, carried them to the table and placed them there. Then he sighed, looking down at the ground. 

“What was that?” he asked, his voice quiet, as his eyes rose to Oliver’s face. They were wide, green. His cheeks were flushed, with the warmth near the stove - or so Oliver hoped. 

“That was me objecting to another man ogling you,” Oliver replied, holding Elio’s eyes. 

The boy swallowed, sighed. 

“He wasn’t ‘ogling me’, Oliver.”

“Oh, really,” Oliver set his jaw. “So now you’re defending him?”

“I’m not defending anyone! There’s nothing to defend, because nothing happened!” 

Oliver continued to stare, his fists clenched by his sides. 

“Don’t you raise your voice with me, Elio.”

He could see the boy’s chest raising and falling quickly with his breaths. He was getting upset - but so was Oliver. Why couldn’t Elio understand? 

“What do you want me to do,” Elio said, and it was obvious he was making a conscious effort to keep his tone level. “What do you want me to do? Not talk to anyone? Pretend the world outside doesn’t exist? Shall I just not leave the house, ever, why don’t you just lock me in here? You’ve done it before, after all. I can be your prisoner, just good to stay in here and let you fuck me when you want to like a concubine.”

Oliver held his breath. It was the very first time that anything like this came out of Elio, of that lovely mouth, that only brought Oliver joy usually. 

He’d never heard anything like this, anything so full of annoyance, so full of resentment, from him. 

“You belong to me,” he growled back, low. His mind disconnected from his mouth now, apparently, the first thing that he could think of leaving his lips. He didn’t even know what point he was trying to make. 

Elio raised his chin, his usually childlike face tense, older-looking. 

“I’m not a thing, Oliver.”

The words resounded between them, harsh and cold. 

Oliver breathed, the adrenaline in his veins making him tense, on edge. He ran a hand through his hair, looked away. 

Elio was right. Of course he was. 

He wasn’t a thing, he wasn’t something to be owned. But Oliver knew this; it was just that - this thing, their fight, had gotten away from them. Gone past anything that made sense. 

Oliver’s hands itched; he wanted a drink, he wanted something to punch, something to transfer all his frustration on to. 

“Do you know what,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Do whatever the hell you want. I don’t care. I’m out.”

He picked his jacket back up, and headed towards the door, jaw set, teeth clenching. 

“Fine. Leave! Leave me! That’s what you want. Leave me,” Elio said, his voice risen again. 

Oliver stopped for a moment; listened to the silence after that, to Elio’s accelerated breaths - to Rufus, barking, confused. 

Then he clenched his fists again, and left into the night. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By the time Oliver returned, night had fully fallen. 

It was very late, and he didn’t expect to find Elio or Rufus waiting for him downstairs. The house was quiet; the kitchen tidy, clean, the fireplace dormant. 

He sighed. 

He felt like an utter, complete fool. 

He took off his jacket, his boots. His left hand holding onto his peace offering for Elio, he climbed the stairs, careful not to make too much noise. 

He peeked into the bedroom, immersed in darkness except for the weak moonlight coming through the window. Elio was huddled in bed, curled up small, the blanket wrapped around his body like a defence. His face was tense even in his sleep; Oliver just knew, that once his lips touched the boy’s cheeks, they would find the salt of dried tears there. 

He sat on the edge of the bed; took a breath, found his courage. And then he reached out to stroke Elio’s curls away from his face. 

The boy frowned, still half-asleep, and then blinked as he roused to consciousness. 

“Oliver?” he asked, his voice rough. 

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Oliver murmured back. He stroked Elio’s cheek with a thumb, his fingers down Elio’s earlobe, until the boy pushed himself up to sitting, rubbing a fist against his eyes. 

Oliver pulled his hand back, watched him carefully, feeling his own face flaming with guilt. 

“It’s late,” Elio said softly, his eyes still half-open, looking confused still. 

Oliver nodded. “It is.” He was dying to touch him, to mend their connection, but he couldn’t until he did something first. Apologised.

“I’m sorry, Elio. I’m sorry for being such a despicable person. I never meant - I don’t know what came onto me. I was - I was blinded, all I could see - when I think of losing you, I just - I can’t reason anymore.”

Elio looked at him. Swallowed. 

“I’m sorry for reprimanding you, about something you were not at fault for. I’m sorry for saying - horrible things.” 

Elio blinked again. Then, he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, smiled shyly. 

“Did you actually, did you... did you get me flowers?” he asked timidly. 

“Oh,” Oliver chuckled. He’d almost forgotten. 

He held the bunch of wild flowers up, for Elio to see. His face felt warm now, not in guilt but in self-consciousness. 

“It’s - it’s late, there was no one to sell flowers and so I - you know Mrs Carling’s back garden? I think - I don’t think she’ll miss these.”

He watched as Elio’s eyes went wide, his smile widening too to match. The boy chuckled, covered his face again in embarrassment. “Oh god,” he exclaimed, but he was beaming. “You madman.”

Oliver chuckled too. Placed the flowers down on the floor next to their bed, and then crawled back towards Elio. When the boy lay down, Oliver leant over him, eyes in his eyes. 

“Forgive me?” he asked softly.

Elio smiled. Reached out with his hand, to stroke Oliver’s cheek. 

“Only if you forgive me,” he said. “I’m sorry I said horrible things, too. I don’t think them. I promise. I was just - upset.”

Oliver looked into his eyes. He felt so, so relieved. He reached out, kissed Elio on the lips. 

Soon, the kiss became deeper. Elio sighed into him; moved slowly to open his legs, let Oliver settle in between them. He slept naked, as always, and Oliver could feel him hard already against himself. 

He kept kissing him, and Elio kissed back, with intent, breathing against his mouth, increasingly demandingly. 

“The point about the concubine, though,” Oliver paused to growl, low against Elio’s lips. “That wasn’t too bad a thought.”

Elio chuckled, growled in his throat, like a mini-Rufus, reached up to bite at Oliver’s bottom lip. He grabbed Oliver’s hand, sucked two of his fingers into his mouth. Licked them, teasingly. 

“Want you inside me”, he whispered, low. Guiding Oliver’s hand down in between his legs. 

And Oliver obliged. Kissed him again, passionately, wanting to cancel everything that happened and just be one with his husband again. 


	96. One Word Prompt: BIRTHDAY and PIANO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @leelacute requested “birthday”, and Jessica_91 on Ao3 wanted “piano”
> 
> I hope you like this :)

“It’s okay. Just trust me.”

From under the piece of fabric that covered his eyes, Elio smiled as Oliver gently led him into the house. 

He’d been to look after Rosie, and when Sadie drove him back Oliver had met them outside, beaming, a little bashful. He’d tied a blindfold around Elio’s head; he’d told him there was a surprise for him inside. 

“You’re so silly. You shouldn’t have,” Elio giggled, his arms outstretched towards Oliver, looking for balance. 

“What are you talking about? You turn eighteen today. Of course you deserved a present.”

Oliver looked at the boy. Pulled him a little further in. Elio was smiling still, although Oliver knew he was full of curiosity right now. 

His flushed, excited face was a vision; and Oliver fastened his arms around Elio’s waist and pulled him to himself, moved up his arm to cup Elio’s face and guide him. And kissed him. 

Elio wasn’t expecting it, unable to see as he was, and so he gave a little jump; it only made Oliver want to kiss him more. He walked him gently backwards until Elio’s back hit the wall, and then deepened the kiss, coaxing his young husband to open his mouth for him, guiding him still, as Elio couldn’t know his intentions. He could only trust Oliver, his touch and his body.

“Is this my present?” Elio asked, Oliver’s mouth having left his lips to kiss and bite at his throat, giving him the chance to breathe. 

His hips pinning Elio back against the wall, his erection growing, Oliver stroked his palms up along Elio’s sides, stopping on his chest. His thumbs stroked Elio’s nipples through his shirt. 

“No,” Oliver purred against Elio’s collarbone. He wanted to bite, he wanted to sink his teeth into that delicate skin, and leave a mark. “Your present is something else. But, now I’m distracted.”

He felt Elio’s body going tight in reaction to his petting; and it made him even harder. 

“Let me - let me take the blindfold off,” Elio asked, in a breath. He lifted a hand towards his face, but Oliver caught it in his bigger one, brought it to his mouth to kiss. 

“No, leave it there.”

“But Oliver...”

“First of all,” Oliver kissed his lips. “First of all if you take it off, you will see what your present is, and that wouldn’t be a surprise anymore. And secondly,” and here he bent his head again, spoke against the soft skin under Elio’s ear, making sure to warm it with his breath. 

“Secondly, do you really not want to let me make love to you, while you can’t see what I’m doing?” He lowered his voice to a rough purr. “While you don’t know where my hands are on your body. While you don’t know where my mouth is going to go, where my tongue will touch you. You’ll have to guess where I’m biting you, by the feeling of my teeth on your skin. You’ll have to guess when I’m entering you.”

“Oh.” A shudder ran through Elio’s whole body. “Oliver. Fuck.”

Oliver chuckled, warmly, and genuinely amused at Elio’s reaction, at how weak the boys was with just a few words for him - at how his knees almost buckled. He held him up and cupped his face again, his large hands covering the boy’s cheeks and jaw while he kissed him, pushed his tongue deep inside his mouth, mimicking their coupling. Elio’s head was tilted back to accommodate for Oliver’s superior height and Oliver took advantage, kissed the side of his throat and then sank his teeth into it, as deep as they would go, until he felt Elio stiffen and close his fist around the hair at Oliver’s nape with the delicious pain of the bite. 

Oliver guided Elio’s arms back down by his side, and then took off his shirt. Made sure that he was leaning back against the wall, and then took hold of his hips, kept him still while he kissed down his shoulder and to one of his nipples. He bit, sucked, licked and kissed it, and he knew it was a pinching, irresistible torture, and he contemplated telling Elio to keep his hands by his side when the boy sank his fingers into his hair again, but decided not to when Elio didn’t hold him back, but let him continue his assault. 

Then, he kissed down the boy’s flat belly; unlatched his trousers and kissed each sharp hipbone. His arms under Elio’s rump, he wrapped the boy’s thighs around his waist, and picked him up. The temptation to see Elio’s reaction to being manoeuvred by Oliver without being able to see anything, without knowing where he was being carried to was too strong; and Oliver chuckled again when the boy yelped softly and tightened his legs and his arms around him. 

“What are you doing,” Elio protested playfully, holding on to him for dear life. 

“Just taking you somewhere more comfortable,” Oliver murmured softly against Elio’s temple. 

He placed him with his back on the couch and pulled back a little, to unlatch his own garments. He thought about preparing Elio; but he knew it would be fine. 

He kissed him on the mouth a few more times, as the boy laughed quietly against his lips, amused by the situation; and then Oliver grabbed the oil they kept nearby, used it on himself. He kissed Elio again, and pushed inside his body.

Elio whimpered, loud, against Oliver’s mouth. Oliver pulled back to watch and Elio arched his spine, holding on to the couch and Oliver held his hips still, made him feel everything.

“Oliver.” 

Elio’s voice was rough after that. When Oliver started his thrusts he breathed out, whimpered, and finally Oliver decided that it was time for Elio to be free of the blindfold. He slid it off Elio’s head, watched as he kept fucking him, as Elio batted his eyes open, and a small smile appeared on his lips. He pushed up, grabbing Oliver’s face to join their mouths, and Oliver could hardly keep up as they licked and kissed and he pushed his hips hard against Elio’s. 

The boy was sweaty, his curls stuck to his forehead, but so was Oliver, and breathless, and just chasing his release now, but he didn’t want to come until Elio did and so he continued, his belly pressed against Elio’s sex until he felt the warmth of him, and he knew he could let himself follow now. 

They lay there, intertwined, waiting for their heartbeats to slow down. 

A dog was barking outside; Elio blinked his eyes open with effort, and then rolled them, squeezed a tuft of hair on Oliver’s nape in his hand. The older man was laying on top of him, in between his legs, and did not raise his head at that. 

“Rufus is outside. He wants to come in - I need to open the door for him,” Elio reminded him, his voice still rough after their lovemaking. 

Oliver was about to protest; but then, he remembered. 

The surprise. 

“Fine,” he said, feigning annoyance. He pulled up, letting Elio leave the couch. And the boy did, whimpering quietly at the over-exertion in his body. He pulled his trousers back on; but when he made to walk towards the front door, he stilled. 

“O-Oliver.” His eyes were fixed on something in front of him. “Is that - is that what the - is that what your surprise was going to be?”

“I mean, it still is, unless you don’t like it?” Oliver replied bashfully, as he pulled himself to sitting. 

“I - “ Elio babbled. He couldn’t tear his eyes off of his gift. 

His new piano. Black, slick, smooth and shiny, waiting for him by the corner of the living room. 

“Is that really mine?”

Oliver chuckled. 

“Yes, of course it is.”

Elio looked towards him, blinking disbelievingly.

“Oliver, this is - this is too much, this is too expensive, I-“

“Just go and have a look at it,” Oliver said, smiling and shaking his head affectionately. “Don’t worry about how much it costs.”

Elio looked at him, still disbelieving. Then he smiled. And bent over his husband, kissed him on the lips, before scuttling to the piano, full of excitement, while Oliver laughed and went to open the door to let Rufus in. 


	97. One Word Prompt: RUFUS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marc_19 requested Rufus as a one word prompt. Hope you like this chapter!!! 
> 
> Ps keep sending me words! I don’t write them in order, as I need to wait for inspiration to strike! But I’m trying to do them all... 
> 
> And as usual, sorry for the delay. With all of my stories! Real life, etc.

When Oliver returned that day, he did so to a distraught Elio who ran outside as soon as Oliver dismounted, face flushed, wringing his hands together. 

“Is everything alright?” Oliver asked, frowning, concerned. 

“It’s Rufus,” Elio said, his eyes wide and pleading. He swallowed. “I can’t find him, I don’t know where he is.”

Oliver tied Arthur to the fence outside their house, resolving to take him to the stable later once he’d heard Elio out, and hopefully calmed him down. 

“Wait, Rufus - are you sure he’s -“

“I don’t know where he is, he’s gone,” Elio repeated again, his face tight in anguish, teeth biting into his lower lip. “I’ve - I’ve looked around, around here, in the stables, the chicken coop, I - I didn’t want to leave the house because maybe, what if he came back, but - he’s gone and I -“

“Okay, okay. Wait a second. Breathe,” Oliver had to stop him before he worked himself into a panic. “When was the last time you’ve seen him?”

Elio looked up at him. Rubbed a hand across one eye, as if to fend off tears. His face was still flushed. 

“I can’t - I can’t remember, I was - doing some stuff around here. I fed the chickens and, he was in the garden, I think. He was barking, I could hear him. Then I went inside and I thought he’d followed me, and that he was sleeping, and then I started dinner and I called him to give him food but he wasn’t - he wasn’t anywhere.” Oliver observed him attentively as the boy spoke, and Elio didn’t take his eyes away from his husband’s. “I don’t know where he is Oliver, I - what if he’s been taken, what if he’s - “

Oliver reached out, cupped Elio’s cheeks with both his hands. 

“Hey, shh. Baby, listen. I am sure he’s fine.”

“He never does this Oliver, you know this, he never -“ Elio begged, his hands going up to cover Oliver’s on his face, as he shook his head as much as he could. He looked miserable, and Oliver’s heart gave a squeeze. 

“Sometimes dogs can be unpredictable,” he tried, not really sure it would help anything, but not really knowing what to say, either. “But how about this. I’ll take Arthur, and go and look for Rufus in the woods here. He’s probably gone after a bird, or a fox maybe. You know how he is. I’m sure I’ll find him in no time.”

“Okay,” Elio nodded. “Okay.” He set his jaw; visibly trying to steel himself, get himself under control. 

“You stay here in case he comes back on his own. He’s probably hungry by now, it might be that when I come back he’s already here and eating his supper.”

Oliver tried to be playful, just to get Elio a little less worried - but it didn’t work. The boy’s eyes were still wide, still pleading as if he hoped that Oliver could bring him the instant good news he desperately wanted. 

But the truth was that, since they took him in, Rufus had never left. Not even once. 

This was definitely out of character for him, and it concerned Oliver, although he tried not to show it. 

“I’ll be back soon. Alright?” He murmured to his young husband, waiting for him to nod, before he kissed his lips, and let him walk back into the house while he mounted Arthur once again. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver looked for a while, in the woods behind their house, on both sides of the road across from it; but there was no trace of Rufus. 

It was dark by now, and Arthur had started getting nervous and tired. Oliver didn’t know how long he’d been looking for, but he thought it must now be a good hour, and he didn’t want to leave Elio on his own for too long. He decided to ride back. 

There was no trace of Rufus back at the house, either. And Oliver didn’t like Elio’s face when he saw him come back empty handed. He looked heartbroken. 

“I’ve - I’ll make your dinner,” Elio said quietly, his gaze down, as he walked to the stove, took bread and canned food out of the cupboard - his hand rubbing over his eyes once again. 

Oliver sighed, and padded over to him. 

“I can do this,” he murmured, gently covering Elio’s hands with his, taking the food from him, placing it on the countertop. He nudged Elio’s chin up, saw his eyes, bright with tears. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find him,” Oliver said, quietly. “But listen - dogs sometimes do things like these. Sometimes they get lost, but then they find their way home.” 

Elio only looked at him, then looked back down. Swallowed. 

Oliver pulled him to himself, pushed his mouth into Elio’s ruffled curls. 

“I’ll go and look for him again in the morning. Alright? I promise. I’ll look for him until I find him.”

He felt Elio nod against his shoulder. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning, Oliver woke at dawn. He left with Arthur, determined to look for Rufus once again, everywhere, while Elio watched him from the window, his face pale and sad. 

And yet, again, Rufus was nowhere to be found; and after searching everywhere he could think of - would Rufus have gone as far as Aurora?, having prepared himself to discover bad news, Oliver still found nothing, and so he returned to the house, worried for his husband. Elio hadn’t eaten since the night before; he’d hardly slept. 

Oliver needed to take care of him. Rufus was important, but nothing was more important than Elio. 

As Oliver pulled on Arthur’s reins by the house and made to dismount, a small carriage stopped nearby. A lady got out of it, holding onto her feathered hat and her skirt as she stepped down. 

“Marianne?” Oliver greeted. Marianne was a rich lady from the town, one of those who’d commissioned Oliver quite a lot of jobs, and had gotten to know both him and Elio quite well. 

“Oliver! Oh thank God you’re home. I didn’t know what to do,” Marianne said, waving the hand that held onto her velvety glove. She waited until her driver dismounted, too, and scuttled to the side of the carriage, opening the door.

“Come on now!” Marianne said, in her shrill voice. “Come down!”

And with a bark, a small dog jumped out of the carriage; ran to Oliver’s feet. 

Rufus. 

“What - this is my dog,” Oliver said, almost shocked. 

“I very well know that, this is why I’ve brought him back. He went after my Lulu!”

Oliver looked from the dog, back to Marianne. Shocked, and amused at the same time. 

Lulu. Marianne’s small, pampered, spoiled golden-haired cocker spaniel.

“When - how?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps yesterday, when I was coming back from the market, when my wagon broke down nearby here. He must have smelled her. Good lord. Now she’ll have a litter!”

She was gesticulating, wildly, and Oliver wanted to laugh, torn between being relieved to see Rufus safe and sound, and finding her annoyance very amusing. 

“Oh my god, Rufus!” 

Oliver decided he’d go for smiling with happiness, though, when Elio ran out of the house and towards the dog, picked him up, hugged him to himself while Rufus wagged his tail and licked his face. 

“Rufus, you’re okay! I was so worried, I’m so happy you’re okay!” 

Marianne looked at him, then back at Oliver. She pursed her lips. 

“I’ll send you the pups when they’re born!” she said, and then turned around, climbed back on to her wagon - her driver running to the other side to get back to work. 

“You’ve been very bad,” Elio told Rufus, as the dog still licked him everywhere he could. 

Oliver smiled. He was so relieved. 

“Yes, it seems like he has been bad,” he said, walking over to them, kissing Elio’s head. Seeing him happy made him feel so much better. “But I told you he’d be back.”

Elio looked up at him; and, without letting Rufus go, he stood on tip toes, and hugged himself into Oliver’s chest, in thanks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love it if you left me a comment!


	98. One Word Prompt: SLAP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @thintha60570945 requested “slap” as a Word Prompt on Twitter. A tough one! Hope you like this chapter x

Oliver could only see Elio’s eyes. 

Wide, shocked, red-rimmed already, the boy stood frozen in front of him. The back of Oliver’s hand smarted with the impact of skin against skin; the sound of the slap still resounded in Oliver’s ears. 

He stared at Elio, as a tear slid down the boy’s cheek. The pale skin there, where Oliver had struck him, was changing colour, going scarlet with the imprint of Oliver’s hand. 

Oliver could not look away. His heart beat fast, his thoughts were jumbled. He held his own, offending hand, disbelievingly. 

And then, he woke up. 

His heart was still beating fast, and he was sweaty, and pulled himself to sit up in bed, running a hand through his hair and blinking. 

It was a dream, it was a dream. 

Just a dream. 

The room was still dark, the curtains pulled on the window, and Oliver looked to the space on the bed next to him, wanting to see Elio - but finding it empty. 

“Elio?”he called, his voice already verging on panicky. 

He heard the noise of footsteps up the wooden stairs, and he ran a hand through his hair again as he tried to breathe. 

“Oliver? Are you okay?” Elio asked, appearing on the doorway. 

“Where were you,” Oliver asked. His voice was rough, his throat dry, and he swallowed with difficulty. 

“I - I went downstairs to give Rufus his breakfast and make ours,” Elio said, tentatively. He was frowning, looked confused. 

From where he’d been looking down at his feet Oliver glanced up, into his young husband’s worried face. His heartbeat was still fast, but slowly slowing down; Oliver told himself to breathe. It was a dream. Elio had gone downstairs to make breakfast. It hadn’t happened for real, he hadn’t hit Elio for real. Elio was okay. 

“Come here, baby,” Oliver asked, quietly. 

Still looking confused, Elio obeyed, padded over and sat next to him on the bed. 

Oliver wrapped an arm around his body; squeezing him to himself, hiding his face into Elio’s collarbone, pushing his lips hard against the skin there that wasn’t covered with his shirt. 

“Are you okay,” Elio asked softly, raising his own hand to run his fingers through Oliver’s hair. Oliver closed his eyes, gratefully, at the touch. 

“I had a bad dream,” Oliver murmured, lips still against Elio’s shoulder. Feeling stupid, even as he said it. “An awful dream. I dreamt that I had hit you.”

He felt Elio take a breath in his arms. The boy’s hand kept moving, his fingers still stroking Oliver’s hair soothingly.

“I could see your face, the - the red on your skin,” Oliver continued, and held Elio a little tighter. “I woke up, I didn’t see you here. I thought it was real.”

There was a moment of silence. Elio’s hand kept stroking, and then the boy spoke, softly again. 

“It was just a dream,” he murmured. “Just a dream. Remember last night, we had that nice dinner, with the deer you caught? And then you made love to me. Remember? We fell asleep, and you were still inside me.” He kissed Oliver on the cheek, delicately. “Everything’s okay.”

It was Oliver’s turn to hesitate for a moment. He breathed, filling his lungs with Elio’s scent. The familiar smell of his skin, the warmth under it. 

Then, Oliver pulled back to look at his husband’s face. 

“I would never hit you. I would never. Tell me you know this.”

He looked into Elio’s eyes, seriously, his lips pursed. Elio blinked; stroked the side of Oliver’s face gently. 

“I know,” he said, nodded. His eyes were black in the darkness of the room, but firm, sure. 

Oliver didn’t move his gaze from him. Stared, for a few long moments. And then nodded.

“I’d sooner cut my hand off, then touch you with the intent of bringing you pain,” he murmured. “Like my father did to my mother.”

Elio tilted his head, reached out, to take Oliver’s hand in his. 

“These hands of yours can do so many wonderful things. They work, they fix, they hunt and they cook.They guide and soothe Arthur, and the other horses. They feed Rufus.” He lowered his voice. “They give me so much pleasure when they stroke me, and touch me, everywhere. Why would you ever want to cut them off?”

He followed his words with a coquettish smile; and Oliver looked down for a moment, chuckled softly. 

Then Elio became serious once more. 

“Oliver, don’t - don’t feel guilty about something that - you would never do.” He swallowed. “You’re not your father. You could never be like him.”

Oliver still looked at him; and Elio continued. 

“You’re the man I love,” he said. “The man I fell in love with. My savior and my husband. This is who you are. You’re not your father, and you could never be.”

His eyes stayed sure, confident. And then he reached closer, kissed Oliver on the mouth. Once, twice. Gentle and careful. 

Until Oliver, too, kissed back, slowly and softly, with no intent behind that aside from giving and bringing reassurance, and love. 

Then Elio pulled back, gave him another gentle smile. 

“Breakfast is almost ready. Come down? We can eat together.”

And Oliver smiled; and nodded. 

**Author's Note:**

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